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Please enjoy this preview of Rainbow Islands
I stood on the docks, looking out at the ship that would take me away from everything I’d ever known. Next to me was the bag I’d been allowed to pack. I’d filled it with books and paper instead of clothes because I hated almost everything in my closet. I was wearing my favorite pair of pants, the denim worn thin in places.
I didn’t have a choice—well, no, technically I did. The alternative was to be sent to the camp, but for me that was no choice at all. Rachel had decided to go there after we were caught kissing. The counselors there would “fix” her, make her normal so she liked boys and would marry some guy and pop out babies.
The thought of that filled me with terror, so I’d chosen exile to the islands.
My parents stood next to me, crying. Men weren’t supposed to cry, but they would never see me again. It was like I was dying, and death was something it was okay for men to cry about. My dad hugged me awkwardly; then my mom squeezed me tight.
“This is for the best,” she said. I wondered if she was trying to convince herself. “You’ll be happier there, with… with your own kind.”
Gay people. Lesbians specifically. There were two big islands out there, one for the gay men and one for the lesbians. Long ago, the exile was started as a humane way to deal with unnatural people. Some had argued for execution, or jail, or for the camp as the only solution. The islands meant no one had to be killed and people like me wouldn’t be around to corrupt the good, honest Christians.
If being Christian meant following all their rules and being a miserable shell of a person, then I would rather go to Hell. My parents had begged me to bring a Bible with me in the hopes that I’d repent my sinful nature and turn to Christ. I could never come back to the mainland, but they thought that while I was alive there was hope. I hated my parents and loved them in equal measure. They meant well, but they’d never understood me and had tried to make me conform, make me into a proper lady. With every fiber of my being, I didn’t want to be a lady. I hated dresses and long hair and wore pants as often as I could. At school, girls had to wear dresses or skirts, and I hated every second of it. The only thing worse was dressing up for church. Looking into the mirror on those days was like looking at an alien.
When I got home from school or church, I’d strip off the clothes as fast as I could. I wished I could strip off my skin as easily, shed this prison I was trapped in.
For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to be a boy. I was sure God had made some mistake, put my soul into the wrong body. But my parents and the church insisted that God didn’t make mistakes, that I was wrong. But if God made me this way, why? Was he cruel? Jesus was supposed to love me but only if I followed all the rules. If not, I’d get sent to Hell and suffer for all eternity. What kind of love was that?
So I decided God was cruel and not worth worshipping. That made me a prideful, doomed sinner, but I didn’t care.
Especially not today.
“I’ll miss you so much.” Mom hugged me again.
I was bitter and scared and wanted to lash out, but this was the last time I’d ever see her, so I hugged her back. “Me too.”
Two men in black uniforms approached. “It’s time to go, ma’am.”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Dad asked. “You could go to the camp—”
“No.” The people there would take away everything that made me me. I’d become an obedient puppet, a good girl who prayed and loved Jesus. I hated Rachel for choosing that. It was like betraying me, betraying herself. She believed what we’d done was wrong, and that meant she thought I was wrong.
Just like my parents did.
“Maybe you’ll see Abby,” my mom said. “Let her know her parents still love her and they pray for her every day.”
My cousin Abby had chosen to go to the island a year ago. My family didn’t talk about it much, and when we got together for holidays or other occasions, her parents had this drawn, haunted look about them. Like they were ghosts. I’d admired her bravery and had debated following in her footsteps. But it’s not easy to leave your whole life behind, even when you’re miserable.
And here I was anyway. I think some part of me knew I’d always end up here. I was too willful to bow to their rules. I’d always gotten in trouble for being too loud, too quiet, too much of a bookworm, too willing to share my opinions. Wrong. I was always wrong.
Maybe on the island I’d finally be right.
I gave my parents yet another hug and lifted my bag with a grunt. It was too heavy with all the books, but I had to carry it myself. My parents weren’t allowed on the dock or the ship, and the guards weren’t going to help me, only make sure I got on.
Several feet away, a small crowd had gathered to watch me go. Some family, a few friends. Gawkers and parents who’d brought their children as a lesson—don’t be gay, or you’ll be exiled too.
Lugging my suitcase, I followed the guards down the dock and onto the gangplank. We lived inland, the trip here taking a full day. I’d been to the ocean a few times on vacation, only once on a boat. Now I was getting on a huge ship, and we’d go out over that vast water until the land disappeared. Until everything disappeared.
I wasn’t going to cry. I wouldn’t give everyone the satisfaction. Swallowing hard, I stepped onto the deck. I held my hand up as the ship pulled away and my parents grew smaller and smaller; then I turned to face the horizon.
~* * *~
It took two days to reach Lesbian Island. I got sick the first night. Nerves or seasickness or some combination of the two. I huddled in my bunk, curled around myself, hating God and everyone. The next day, I was physically better but still miserable mentally. I wandered the deck and leaned over the rail to stare out at the sea and sky.
The crew hoisted a bright Rainbow flag, and curiosity got the better of me. “What’s that for?”
“So they know we’re bringing someone to them and won’t attack us.”
“Attack?” I’d heard a few rumors but thought they were just to scare people.
“They’ve built ships. They don’t come to the mainland, but they attack supply ships and fishing ships unless they fly the Rainbow flag.”
There were other islands that belonged to the Christian Republic, though none as far out as the two homosexual-controlled islands.
“Then why wouldn’t you fly that flag all the time?”
He looked at me like I’d grown another head. “It’s their flag.”
I’d heard that too, the blasphemy of using God’s promise to Noah as their own symbol, but somehow it had stuck. God had told Noah that he’d never destroy the world again after the Flood. Maybe this was the gays’ way of saying… what? That people like me would be safe?
I looked up at the flag snapping in the wind and took a deep breath. Even if the island was a sad place where I’d have to struggle to survive, at least I could be myself. The wind felt strange blowing through my hair. I’d chopped it all off the night before I left, because why not? It wasn’t as if I was going to get in more trouble.
Late in the afternoon, a little smudge appeared on the horizon, and the sailor in the crow’s nest called out that he’d sighted land. My heart pounded.
“That’s Gay Island,” the sailor closest to me said. “Lesbian Island is just beyond that.”
As we got closer, I could make out a vast stretch of green vegetation and white sand beaches. In the distance, a huge mountain rose over the island. The water was a clear, bright blue echoing the sky above. It didn’t look like a miserable place. As we passed, I thought I could make out a dock and tiny waving figures.
Then we crossed a bay, the water glittering in the afternoon sun. The crew tensed when they spotted another ship, even bigger than the one we were on and flying a huge Rainbow flag. Was that another ship from the Christian Republic? Or did that ship belong to the homosexuals? I squinted, but our own ship turned away and the big ship didn’t follow.
Another island came into view.
“That’s where you’re going.” The sailor pointed.
My new home looked as green and bright as the first island. Docks stretched out from the beach, with a few small boats tied to them.
The captain tromped onto the deck. “Get your bag.”
I hurried down to my small cabin, shoving the few things I’d unpacked back into my bag and lugging it up the narrow stairs.
The captain pointed to a dinghy hanging over the side of the ship. “Get in. You’ll have to row yourself.”