Destiny the Drag Queen

Destiny glanced at their phone, unsure which way to turn. Their sister, Hope, had done a runner so Destiny was tracking her on their phone via an app. Assuming, of course, Hope was still wearing the necklace containing her GPS tracker.

Although Destiny was only a few blocks from their home in the queer part of town, they may well have been in another country. Gentrification had ravaged the neighbourhood, rendering the streets unrecognisable as old haunts were demolished to make way for apartment buildings with upscale shops and restaurants on the ground floor.

Destiny strained to listen, but all they heard was the electrical buzz of a tired transformer on the pole to their left. Although sounds of construction rang out here during the day, there was no sign of life at this time of night. Then they heard it; a thud, followed by a stream of obscenities from an alley to the right. Any other person would be cautious entering a dark alleyway, at night, in a dodgy part of town, but not Destiny. They strode into the alley confidently, fearless, all 210cm of them (with heels and hair).

Hope lay sprawled out next to a dumpster, rambling incoherently to herself but placing great emphasis on swear words. The alley was dark; all Destiny could see was a row of big metal bins on wheels along a fresh brick wall, piles of construction debris, and their belligerent sister.

“Mutter mutter FUCK. Mumble fuck SHIT.”

“Come on, Hope,” Destiny said, reaching out their hand. “Let’s get you home.”

“Gimme Dad’s watch, ROGER.” Hope smacked Destiny’s hand away. The siblings had not been close for well over twenty years, but Destiny continued to care for Hope due to a strong sense of familial obligation. Hope is a hard person to like, yet alone love. Destiny touched the watch on their wrist - a vintage 1972 Rolex with the original black dial - unaware of their action but left reassured by the watch's presence.

“I wish you’d let it go,” Destiny said, softly, without anger. “Dad gave it to me.”

They braced themself for an onslaught of obscenities and accusations, but Hope just trickled off into more incoherent nonsense. Hope didn’t mean to offend Destiny by deadnaming them; she just hadn’t learned Destiny’s preferred name, gender, or pronouns during any of her brief coherent episodes since Destiny’s evolution into the fabulous non-conforming person they had become.

“And now you’ll give it to me. Along with your bag. And phone.” The voice came from behind Destiny, low and threatening. They turned and noted the silhouette of a large man, armed with some sort of hand gun. The man’s eyes glinted in a stray beam of light from the lamp post on the corner and Destiny froze for a few seconds, their eyes glazed over, breath caught in their throat. Then they focussed their eyes on Chip, a hint of sadness set in the lines of their face.

“Oh Chip,” Destiny said, shaking their head sadly. “You’re going to regret this.”

“How do you know my name?” Confusion flashed across the mugger's face.

“I was cursed by a gypsy. Actually, we both were.” Destiny swept her arm round to include Hope in her statement. “It’s always a gypsy curse, isn’t it. It’s never a curse cast by the clown guild. Or the Starbucks employees union. It’s always the gypsies. Our Dad pissed one off, apparently. Didn’t pay for a fortune telling session.”

“Oh man! Shut up!” Chip waved the gun at Destiny. “Just give me your valuables!”

“How dare you misgender me,” Destiny said. “You could at least ask a person’s pronouns before you mug them. You know, I should be at home, right now, soaking in a hot bath after my performance tonight, not traipsing around the dodgy part of town in full drag meeting muggers. But I guess this was always going to happen.”

“Please, shut the fuck up.” Chip reached out for Destiny’s bag, but they pulled back.

“Don’t you want to hear about our curse?” Destiny continued. “Poor Hope there is cursed to forget everything. She’s had dementia since we were fifteen years old. And me? I remember everything. The moment I meet someone, I know them. Intimately. I know their secrets. I know their desires. I even know their future, which means I know the exact time and place of their death.”

“Yeah right,” Chip scoffed. “You know when I’m going to die.”

“I know when everybody is going to die, the moment I meet them. I even know when I’m going to bite the big one… and I don’t mean that new go-go dancer.” Destiny gave Chip a playful wink, who recoiled in disgust. “Do you think your internalised homophobia led to your criminal tendencies?”

“You are one freaky bitch,” Chip was visibly impatient, his hands shaking with obvious signs of withdrawal from his drug of choice.

“Chip, I know you were molested by a man in the public toilets on the beach when you were eleven years old. And you liked it.”

Chip staggered and lowered the gun.

“I know you stole your grandmother’s jewellery when you were fifteen, as she lay in her death bed.” Destiny took a step towards Chip, goading him. “And bought gay porn with it.”

“Stay back!” Chip waved the gun in Destiny’s face.

“And I know that deep down, despite your macho man exterior and your toxic masculinity, you crave dick.” Destiny ignored him. “You want a big, hard cock to penetrate you. You really should have done it, while you had the chance. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“Just give me the watch, you freak!” Chip motioned at the watch on Destiny’s wrist with his weapon.

“No!” Hope lashed out with her legs, kicking a dumpster which gave it enough momentum to start rolling. “MY watch!”

The dumpster turned, following the lay of the land, and rolled towards Chip, who - jittery from withdrawal and having his secrets exposed - turned and fired at the big metal bin. The bullet ricocheted off the dumpster and lodged itself in the brick wall near Chip’s head, spraying him with a cloud of brick chips and dust. He screamed and clawed at his face, blood pouring out between his fingers.

Destiny took a step back, risking a glance at Hope. She was just sitting on the ground, mumbling softly to herself, completely unaware of the unfolding drama. The dumpster picked up speed and ran into Chip, knocking him onto a pile of construction debris. There was a loud bang as the dumpster continued on to hit the brick wall, then silence as an echo rolled away down the alley.

“Chip?” Destiny approached the mugger. Chip’s body had a piece of steel rebar sticking out of its chest, and his eyes stared off into nothing. He was gone.

“Bugger,” Destiny said, tapping the face of their watch and holding it up to their ear. “Must be running a few minutes fast.”

Theme: Destiny