priDEMONth

I was out running errands when the Black Sack descended over my head. Panic filled my lungs instead of air. Strong hands--two pairs? Three?--zip tied my wrists together behind my back. They frisked me and removed both of my self defense arms. I bellowed for help. How could this happen, on a public street, in full daylight?

My captors pulled me a few paces. I struggled and kicked. I was outnumbered, but at least once, my foot landed full-force on someone's flesh and they wailed in pain. I may not have had ALL the power there, but at least I had some.

A yank, a shove, and I was suddenly sidewise, surrounded by squirming people and muffled sobs. I heard the sound of a van's back door closing. I wriggled my way towards the door. Don't those have a handle? Something a guy can open from the inside? The engine came to life. I and everyone else in this van lurched as the movement started. I could barely hear their words, but one woman was clearly praying to Jesus.

I silently prayed with her as I twisted around, looking for that blessed handle.

I had to kneel like a man proposing, then twist to the right, for my zip-tied hands to reach the handle. I grasped it, Sweet Baby Jesus's name on my grateful lips. I pulled.

It barely moved, maybe an eighth of an inch. The clink of metal told me it had somehow been secured by a chain.

I'm not ashamed to say that at this point, tears did come to my eyes. If the Good Lord can weep, then a humble sinner like myself can, too, from time to time.

The ride was surprisingly short. I figured we could only be two towns away from where I'd been captured. I could hear some metallic scraping sounds, then the van's back door opened.

When they dragged me and my fellow captives out of the van, I confess, I used some rather terrible language. Rage swept through me. I called my captors horrible names, the kindest of which was "coward." I swore to them they wouldn't be so brave if they'd had the common decency to come at me from the front, announcing their intentions clearly, because then I could have shot them, the rotten gun-thieves. I reminded them that we're in America, and our state has the death penalty, so they better carefully think through what they were going to do to us.

They ignored every word I had to say.

They used cattle prods on me and my fellow captives, and those things hurt like a sunofagun. Maybe the sack on my head used to have chopped onions in it, too, because my eyes watered up again. They marched us one hundred and seven paces (I counted), then lined us up and made us kneel.

"I swear on the Holy Bible," I said. "If you're making me kneel in front of an American flag--"

The Black Sack slipped off my head. Bright light attacked my eyes. I had to blink for a few long, vulnerable moments before my eyes adjusted. In that time, the zip tie on my wrists was cut. I hadn't even realized how uncomfortable I'd been until regular blood flow resumed to my fingers. I flexed them. I massaged the divots left in my wrists from the binding.

Finally, I took in my surroundings.

Dread crept up the cold tile floor, through my jeans and into my knees. I sank down, sitting on my feet, staring at the aggressive rainbows all around me. One clothing rack had black tee shirts with "Trans rights are human rights" in pink, white, and blue. Another rack had some frilly, lacy dresses printed with the phrase, "No binary required." Shorts, tank tops, dresses, even a rack labeled "unisex bathing suits" surrounded my fellow captives and me. Over it all, there was a sign: "PRIDEMONTH."

"No," a woman next to me said quietly. Her blonde pony tail quivered as she shook with fear. "This can't be happening. Please, no!"

Finally, I saw our captors. They wore the red shirts and khaki pants of Target associates, and each one carried a cattle prod. The most disturbing thing about them was their androgynous appearances. The tallest one had pretty hair and makeup, but was definitely over six feet tall. If that was a man, I could punch him; if she were a woman, I couldn't do such an ungentlemanly thing. How dare this person make it so hard to tell?

They all did. They had crazy hair colors, some short, some long, many with shaved parts on their heads too. One of the short ones had sexy curves but a goatee. Another had just about the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, and I was sure that had to be a woman, but she had the same haircut as my teenaged nephew.

Seth, by God, if ever you are tempted to dye your perfect blond hair green, don't. I've seen what that looks like and the result is unsettling.

My stomach clenched with revulsion as the pretty woman(?) with the short green hair said, "Shop."

"What?" another man beside me on the floor asked.

"It's Pride Month," the lovely captor said. "Every June, Target kidnaps cisgendered heterosexual people and forces them to buy rainbow merchandise they don't want. The only way to be safe from this demonic ritual is to change your gender or sexual orientation."

I actually laughed. "This can't be real. Companies don't literally force consumers to buy their junk. And even if this were real, nothing you could possibly do would make me any less of a man, or any less straight."

"Good point," the tall maybe-a-girl told me. Her voice was a little husky, but in a sexy way, like a jazz singer. "The real LGBTQ+ Community is typically very skeptical of 'rainbow capitalism.' Large corporations pander to us every June, but lobby for the same socioeconomic structures that disadvantage us and other minorities twelve months of the year."

"Besides," added the bearded lady, or maybe the curvy man, what do you even call a person like that? They look appealing and revolting at the same time. I have no idea what to make of them. But they said, "Queer folk have never attempted to change anyone else's gender or orientation. We know for a fact that such attempts never work, and can cause lasting damage to the people tortured that way. I mean, look at us!" They swept their arms at themself. "I have lived thirty-two years in a culture that very actively tries to tell me I'm supposed to be something I'm not. It doesn't work. It just makes me resent Grandma for trying to beat the gay out of me with a yardstick."

"But you're evil!" I said. "You kidnapped innocent people and you're forcing them to shop at Target!"

"You said yourself that this doesn't actually happen," the green-haired succubus said. "There are countries where government agencies literally do make non-straight and non-cis folk disappear with Black Sacks over our heads. But we have never been the oppressors, and we're vehemently advocating against fascism."

"You kidnapped us," I snapped. "You told us we had to shop here or change our genders. You are monsters."

The pretty tall one rolled her eyes. "You idiot. This isn't real. It's satire, based on a straw person argument used to villainize a small minority of the human population--one that is frequently, in fact, victimized."

I blinked. My knees were starting to feel sore. I slowly stood up. So did my fellow captives.

The captive woman beside me said, "So, the Disney executives who broke into my house and destroyed my copies of the original The Little Mermaid...?"

"It never happened," the bearded person said in a reassuring tone. "They made a new film with a Black mermaid, but they didn't do anything to destroy or disrupt the original animated classic with the white one."

"But my beer," a captive man on my right whined. "A man in a dress forced me to chug Bud Light until I vomited!"

Another captive man spoke out: "A drag queen tried to read Curious George to little kids at my sister's in-laws' library! Helpless little kids!"

Righteous outrage swelled up in my heart. I demanded to know, "How come I can't tell which of you people has a penis? I have a right to know about your genitals!"

Then my alarm sounded. I woke up.

Inspired by Art by Veya. Thanks, Veya!