The Life And Trials Of A Gay Man

I look into the stars. I have done this ever since I was little. When you look at the stars you dream, and when you dream your inspired, and when you're inspired. You can create!

Works of music, art or writing, expression.
But I've discovered a new way of expressing myself.
Love.

Thomas rests his head on my shoulder.
"I love you, James", he tells me.I turn my head towards him.
"I love you too, Thoma-", I stop, something slimy has splashed onto my neck. I pull it up with my index finger and examine it. Egg.

Another comes hurtling towards us, hitting Thomas square in the face.

I look over to our attackers. A band of young lads, 16 or 17.
"Dirty gays!", the leader of the party shouts.
Ugh, I should have known. Homophobic's.

They run off into the distance, lobbing more eggs as they go. I wipe egg from my cheek and look round at Thomas. He looks downcast.
"Oh, don't mind them", I tell him cheerily, "Us humans hate what we don't understand, and they can't understand loving a man".

I know I'm speaking sense but I'm fuming inside. Is there know place for a homosexual to live in peace in this hetrosexual society.

Most people are polite but they still don't accept us. We're labelled 'different', and in a society where 'fitting in' is the norm, those labels don't wash off easily.

I wake up with these thoughts still haunting me. I look at my reflection in the mirror, is there something biologically different about us? With my tall, thin posture and Thomas's stunted growth it's east to think so. Now that I mention it, I have seen similar traits in most gay couples I've met.
Also our voices, which have never properly broken, seems to be a common occurrence among the homosexual community.

I need to express my feelings. I put on my apron and move to my art room. I continue with my latest piece, The Dove.

It pictures a splendid dove soaring high above the ground, showing how much I wish I could fly, fly with Thomas far away from here. To somewhere we're accepted for who we are.

I wish I could give him more but I can't, it's so unfair on him.

I run down the hill to our picnic spot on the outskirts of the woods. I wait and I wait and I wait. Where is he? I'm very worried.

But then I see him, coming over the hill. I rush up to meet him, but as I get closer it becomes more and more apparent that something's wrong.

I break into a run and grab him by his arms, he's beaten and bruised all over.
"Who...", I start in disbelief. But I don't need Thomas to tell me, I already know.

The boys from last night.