MENSTRUAL CYCLE copyright2011 m.s.

August 25th

He awoke laying in a pool of blood and a dead man in his bed. The man was looking up at Paul, his black lifeless eyes resting intently on him. The man's head had been smashed in with a Plumber’s wrench, the tool buried deep into the right side of his cranium.

There was a scream from Paul that rode the sound waves that broke through the early morning silence.

JULY 28TH

Paul was at the water cooler with Ron and Sid. They were Computer programers and Paul was I.T. Just standing around shootin' the shit.

“You really want us to believe you've banged all these girls here at work, Paul?” Ron gave Sid the eye.

Sid laughed, joined in. “I don't believe that about Becky. She was out that week when her Mother died.”

Paul shrugged. “Believe what you want. She needed a shoulder to cry on.”

“I do believe it about Sharon, though,” Ron elbowed Sid.

“You guys are around each other a lot,” Sid raised an eyebrow.

“No way!” Paul made a face. “Look, we just work together. Anyway, she has a mustache growing right now. Something Ron still can't do.”

“Fuck you guys,” Ron brushed past Sharon on his way to his cubicle. Sharon swallowed back tears, then made an appearance from behind the fake palm tree.

“Hey,” She said shakily. “What did you guys say to Ron. He looked pissed.”

AUGUST 25TH

Paul rose from the bed. He stood in front of the long mirror he had purchased when he was bedding the widow Strummer next door. His naked body was perfectly cut. Not an inch of fat anywhere. His arms were sleek, toned. All hair religiously removed every three days. He had a tan going, which had become the new pride.

What he saw as his eyes moved down below his tattoo of a naked woman holding a rose on his abdomen, horrified Paul. He no longer had a penis and two balls. He had acquired a vagina, with a small trimmed bush. It was long and had three pink folds, and at the moment, was menstruating.

Paul screamed, both hands clutching his dark curly hair. He fell to his knees, asking God what had happened to him.

Then he heard sirens. He remembered the dead man in his bed. Paul tried to get himself together. He ran around his apartment trying dress comfortably. Nothing seemed to satisfy him, except a pair of pajamas. He threw on his snow boots and grabbed the trench coat and wallet as he went out the door.

THREE DAYS LATER

There was a knock at the door. At first, it was a rattle. Then it grew louder, a banging. Sharon rose from the couch, a bag of cheetos fell to the floor and her latest romance she was

reading slipped between the cushions. Reluctantly, Sharon went to the door. What if it's the Landlady wanting the rest of the rent? She peeked through the peephole. It wasn't anyone she knew. A woman in grimy pajamas and sunglasses and a scarfe badly wrapped around her dark curly hair. Sharon turned, started back to the couch.

“Sharon,” A voice called out. “I know your there, I watched you go in your apartment earlier.”

“Oh my God,” Sharon cupped her mouth with both hands. “Paul...?”

She rushed to the door. She pulled the chain from the lock and flung the door open. Paul took three long strides and was inside. He quickly pushed the door shut, leaned wearily against it. He sighed.

“Paul....you know they are looking for you. How in the hell.....why?” Sharon took Paul by the hand and set him on the couch. Immediately he burst into tears. Sharon was uncomfortable. He threw his arms around her. He hadn't been in her place since the night they spent together three months ago. Sharon relented, patted Paul on the back.

“I don't understand anything anymore,” He bawled.

“There, there, Paul. Tell me....all about it.”

Paul wiped his eyes with a feminine hand. “I went out four days ago. To Snozzes bar....everything is hazy after that.”

“Who is the man they found dead in your bed.”

“From what I can remember...I picked him up. And I took him back to my place....I'm not...gay....” Paul let the word trail off. Sharon was looking at him funny now.

“Well...” She shrugged.

“No, no, Sharon,” He touched her hand. “It only get's weirder.”

“That's really not that weird...being gay...for you, maybe....”

“No, please. I was propelled to.....have him.....but …...obviously...I was upset.....by it.”

She was looking at him funny again. “Obviously. Do you remember hitting him--”

Paul began crying again. He nodded to her. “When I woke up and he was in my bed...kissing my shoulder I hit him---with a wrench I was using earlier and....this is even stranger....”

“Oh, Paul...this...is so terrible.”

“Listen to me!” He snapped at her, which got her attention. Sharon backed away from him slightly. “I'm sorry....listen to me...I awoke to that..also I discovered.....I have a vagina.”

It was reflex for Sharon to laugh. She threw her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

“It's not funny. This really happened to me.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Paul.”

Paul heard sirens. He jumped up, looked out the window. He placed the sunglasses on to cover tired eyes. “Don't tell anyone I was hear.” He said, ran to the door.

“Paul don't go...you can stay---” But he was gone out the door.

Did this really happen? Sharon thought. Was it a dream? She shrugged. “Wow, it is true,” Sharon said to herself. “If you wish for something hard enough, it can come true.”