NOT HIM AGAIN

South Kilburn. Rat-infested estate. Concrete towers. Damp flats. Sirens cutting through the night. That was our life. My daughter, blind for years, deserved more. I was trapped, but I refused to give up.

Inside our flat, I traced yellowed newspaper clippings of my old band. Vinyl piled high in cobwebbed boxes. Teenagers shouting, weed stinking up the hall, graffiti screaming at every corner. I hated it here, but I clung to sanity for my fourteen-year-old.

Nights were hell. Gunshots. Gang fights. Upstairs, a drunk metalhead pounding music through the ceiling. Sundays, I’d hoover right below his room just to see how he liked it. My spirit battered, but my resolve? Unshakable.

Julie, my ex, lost to drugs and courts, loved her pipe more than our daughter. Aristocratic background, millions in property—but addiction burned every bridge. That night in Holloway, I wrote her a Dear Julie letter and refused her lies. I had given up my band for my daughter. No way she’d be taken from me.

Then, an unlikely lifeline: my next-door neighbour, a drag queen. Coffee. Glittering costumes. Words that hit like a revelation:

"Darling, you’ve got talent. Drag changed my life. It could change yours."

I hesitated. “I’m not… gay.”

“Oh sweetie, with those legs and that voice, I’ll teach you everything. You’ve wasted years hiding it.”

Months of brutal rehearsals led to my first performance at the City of Quebec. Fifi Lah Loop—feathers, sequins, silk-stockinged legs, whisky in hand. Lights on me, crowd screaming. I was alive again. I commanded the stage. For an hour, I became someone new—and entirely myself.

Afterwards, the old queen whispered, proud: "You’ve got the voice, darling. Keep at it." I quit my job. I performed every night.

Years later, in a costume-filled office, I looked at my daughter. Guide dog by her side. Fingers tracing my face.

"I’m so proud of you, Dad. You never gave up."

I hugged her tight. "Believe in yourself, darling. Chase your dreams. Ignore the narrow-minded. Anything’s possible."

She smiled, eyes bright after years of darkness. "I will, Dad. I promise."

Through drag, grit, and stubbornness, we built a life neither of us imagined. Brighton. Talent agency. Saved enough to give her opportunities I never had. When she saw colour again after surgery, her scream of delight tore through my chest.

Everything—the struggle, the pain, the madness—was worth it.

 drag, flash fiction, resilience, grit, South Kilburn, fatherhood, blind daughter, transformation, nightlife, determination, urban survival, dreams, inspiration, performance, queer culture, music

#FlashFictionFriday #DragPerformance #GrittyLife #UrbanSurvival #Fatherhood #BlindDaughter #Resilience #Transformation #NightlifeStories #QueerCulture #DreamBig #Inspiration #TommyKennedyIV