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Then she decided to save whatever remained of her soul. She crashed through the bushes, searching frantically, calling out his name. The bushes ripped like barbed wire. They tore her waterproof trousers. She saw the river rushing below her, violent and angry. She heard a creaking sound and looked at the black branches. Oh dear God! Her feet slid in the muck and leaves, and she fell into the blackberry bushes. Ruby couldn’t care less about the thorns stabbing her hands and face. She forgot about her runaway puppy. She did care about the dead man swinging in the wind, dangling from a poplar tree. Many years ago, Ruby had been a Sunday school teacher. She seemed to remember the crucifixion cross was hammered together from two lengths of poplar wood. The rope creaked again: a tortured sound. From where she had landed on her bony behind on the sloping riverbank, she stared up at the pendulous corpse. The moon hung behind him. He was a dark cut-out against the sky. A broken puppet on one. I should warn you, reader, that I don't think I was gay, but I had been, I don't know, confused. I'd stolen some 'Gay' magazines: some erotica, and some just general publications to see if it was 'me'. It didn't really gel, but I did know that I had nothing like the kind of stuff my sister had bought to entertain herself. I'd never bought a copy of Playboy, and had no intention of doing so. All the same, John had found them, and was probably by now assuming that I was a fully fledged queer. It was the one thing she'd let me keep because it was the one thing she couldn't use. I think it was another nail in the coffin. John had no interest in men, nor I in women. Then there was the photograph. And finally there was my confession on tape, admitting to being born a girl. Maybe, just maybe it was all true, I thought. However, I still couldn't understand how I could have managed to do something so evil to someone else. As far as I knew I'd never hurt another person before in my.
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