(Charli stands center-stage spotlit. She has long, curly black hair and is wearing a pair of black sunglasses. The stage around her is dark.)

Charli: Hi - my name is Charli. As in XCX. And I have a secret to share with you all. I never thought I’d be open about this side of me so pardon if I seem anxious or choked up. Okay, here it goes. I…have…a dick. Yes. It’s not terribly long. I suppose it’s not much of a wee thing either. It’s just a dick - nothing particularly special. It’s rather smooth and veinless. Hangs a little to the left. It takes two six-inch lengths of tape to hide it. I have gotten very good at making sure there’s no bulge or even a hint of a bulge, especially when I’m on tour rolling around all over the place. It hasn’t been a particularly challenging task - hiding it. But it’s been a task nonetheless. My management has forbidden me from telling anyone my little secret. “Bad for business” apparently for girls to have dicks. Until now. My team tells me it’s cool now for girls to have dicks. I suppose I owe you all a more in-depth explanation about all this but please bear with me. Everything should become clear in the next few moments. It was London - early 2000s. I was just a schoolboy with a deep passion for making music. 

(She rips off her sunglasses and wig, revealing a little boy’s ugly haircut. The stage around her is illuminated and she’s standing in her childhood bedroom. There are music posters, a messy bed, a closet. As she tells the story she acts it out.)

The only issue was that I absolutely sucked. Everything I made sounded disjointed and strange, otherworldly and not in a cool way. I mean, I was just terrible. But I had this undying passion for music. I tried my absolute best to work on my skills - I listened to everything I possibly could. I took voice lesson after voice lesson. I even tried playing in my high school band as a flutist but the director kicked me out by the third week - I was so bad she thought I was pretending just to make the other kids laugh. It was the toughest point in my life because I so badly wanted to make good music. I felt like I understood what made a good record. I could listen to a song and recognize what exactly I liked about it. Whether it was the bass or the lyrics or the tone of the singer’s voice, I knew the elements of a hit. The only issue was my lack of talent. One night when I became especially aggravated sitting on my bed with the battery powered keyboard I received one Christmas, I came up with an idea - I would pray to God to make me a good artist. No - a great one. Now at this point I was not quite sure exactly how a person prayed. I was not raised religious - I was raised quite the opposite, actually. My parents used to drop me off at raves when I was in year 10. God was barely in my vocabulary back then. Regardless, I got on my knees and crossed my hands - just like they do in the movies. I started softly: (Lipsynching while an audio of a younger Charli plays:) “Uhh, hello, God. It’s me, Charli. I don’t know how much direct oversight you keep on things or if you have little angel spies to report to you, but I’m sure you’re well aware that I want to be a musician. Not just any musician. I want to be the best fucking musician in England. In the world. God, I would do anything to have the talent to produce great music. I put in the work. I’ve never tried to take shortcuts. But I am always met with nothing but disappointment. I’ve tried to take my time, start with music theory, build a foundation of knowledge in which to build on but it doesn’t work. I feel like I’m learning but the result is always the same - some bullshit song with bullshit lyrics. God, I won’t ask anything of you again if you could just give me the ability to make a decent song. I’m not even asking for fame. I only want the music.” He didn’t answer. I thought there might be a delay in the prayer transmission or whatever so I sat there with my eyes closed and my hands crossed for about an hour before giving up. God didn’t want me to make music. God didn’t believe in me - why should I believe in me? It was at that moment I heard a rustling in my closet. I was very scared at first so I tried my best to ignore it but that just made it louder. It grew to such an intensity I thought it would wake my parents in the room over. I didn’t have a choice - I had to open the door. So I crept slowly toward the closet. By this point it wasn’t just a noise. The door was jostling so much it could have come flying off the hinges. I wasn’t imagining it - there was someone or something in there that wanted out. I reached for the handle and felt the cold metal vibrate rapidly in my hand. I took a long, deep breath and tore it open. But nothing was there. Maybe I was just imagining thi-

(Satan pops his head out from where the ceiling of the closet should be. He is hanging upside down. A loud, sudden, and terrifying electronic beat pangs just as we see his head. He hisses and shows his tongue before climbing down, landing Spider-Man-style as Charli runs to hide under her bed.)

Satan: Charliiiiiii. Oh Charliiiiiii. Come out, come out wherever you are. (He mounts the bed and grabs the skirt of the bed that hides Charli.) You called for the Heavens but what you need most is a little HELL! (He lifts the skirt, revealing a visibly shaken Charli.)

Charli: What the FUUUCK?! Get out! Get out! Get out!!!

Satan: But you haven’t even heard me out, Charli.

Charli: Why the FUCK would I want to hear Satan out? Is that who you are? Satan?!

Satan: Guiltyyy.

Charli: Ew!!! I didn’t call for you - I called for God!

Satan: And did he seem to give a fuck?

Charli: I guess not. But that doesn’t mean I need Satan to come help me!

Satan: Oh, how little you know.

Charli: What are you talking about?

Satan: That precious “God” of yours? He’s a dickhead. He makes it seem like if you pray to him and suck his dick he will send you to the good place. But that is everything but the truth. God hasn’t made you perfect like those church pricks want you to believe. He specifically makes humans imperfect purely to maintain his supremacy. If you all were perfect, talented creatures that had the ability to freely pursue whatever you wanted, you would have no need for a God. He would have rendered himself null and void with just the first generation of humans. So instead of giving you all ideal, flawless lives he fucks you all up before sending you down here to Earth. You’re like a pair of distressed jeans the kids wear nowadays - he makes you perfect and beautiful before handing you off to enslaved toddlers armed with box cutters to ruin you.

Charli: Wait, so you’re telling me that God doesn’t really listen to our prayers?

Satan: God doesn’t do anything but jerk off all day while his little AI robot secretary handles all the day-to-day operations. He has a pretty nice gig going up there, keeping all his pawns in constant suffering, or at the very least dissatisfaction, while they sit around worshipping him by pretending to drink his blood and shit. And it’s not even like once they’ve proven to be subservient enough he lets them into Heaven. He’s basically shut it off completely to use as his own personal VIP section. It used to be so nice up there. Now it’s just a glorified nightclub with the worst music ever. He doesn’t even book anyone good to play.

Charli: That’s so fucked up! So no matter what we do here we end up in Hell?

Satan: Yup, but it’s not as bad as it seems. I’ve made some major improvements since they wrote that dumbass bible. I’ve gotten rid of most of the firepits and chains and shit. It’s pretty cute down there now. A little crowded but at least we have good music!

Charli: Speaking of good music, you said you could help me. What exactly does making a deal with Satan entail?

Satan: It’s really not as dramatic as they make it out to be. You tell me what you want. I tell you the condition. You agree or disagree and we move on with our lives.

Charli: Okay, well I want to make music. Good music. The best music.

Satan: Music I can do.

Charli: Amazing. So tell me the condition now.

Satan: Gender dysphoria.

Charli: Gender what? What the fuck is that?

Satan: I will make you the best musical artist this generation has seen but in order for me to do that I will need to plant in you the overwhelming desire to be a woman. Every masculine bone in your body will be replaced with a feminine one. You will not be satisfied until you transition.

Charli: Oh, wow.

Satan: Right. I forgot to mention you will now have 10 seconds to either accept or decline my offer. Lots of transexuals to create, kid. I don’t have all day. Your time starts now.

(A giant red countdown appears on a screen behind them. As the numbers change, we hear a loud tick.)

Charli: 10 seconds?! Fuck! You said the best musical artist of this generation?

Satan: You heard it, babes.

Charli: Oh, God. I don’t know.

Satan: Tick tock.

Charli: Do I really want this?

Satan: Time’s getting low.

Charli: Fuck it. Yes. I’ll do it. Make me a girl.

Satan: I knew I could count on you, Charli. You’re going to be one of my most prized creations. I just know it. Drink this.

(Satan pulls out a can of Red Bull.)

Charli: Red Bull?

Satan: It’ll give you wings.

Charli: Alright. Here I go. See you on the other side.

Satan: Drink up, angel.

(Charli brings the Red Bull to her lips and gulps down the whole can.)

Satan: Good girl. Perfect girl. Now fly my angel! Fly!

(Satan exits. Charli floats off the ground and levitates in the center of the background screen which strobes rapidly. We hear the overture to her brat tour. As it builds up to the climax, a replacement wig falls from the sky and she takes out a pair of sunglasses. When it reaches the climax, the screen turns brat green and her sunglasses shoot out rays of light into the audience. As the music subsides, she floats back down to the ground and her sunglasses turn off.)

Charli: And then I was a tranny. It wasn’t as glamorous as that whole performance made it out to be. For years I looked like such a little boy, because I guess I still was one. I had this deep undying pit while I grappled with the fact that I was destined to become a woman. Finally I told my parents and we got me on some hormones. I started passing and went stealth. Never got around to surgery, which explains my announcement. But dick and all, I finally had access to a musical talent I had only dreamt of up until that point. I was like a transsexual Bene Gesserit. I had the knowledge of sisters before me and sisters to come. Dance music just made sense to me suddenly. From that moment on I didn’t stop creating. I pushed myself day and night. I stopped listening to new music. I didn’t need to. I had now not only heard every song ever written, but every song to be

written. I wasn’t just a student of music any longer. I was music. Now here we are. I’ve released some of the most innovative, exciting, celebrated dance music. I’ve won a few Grammys. My label’s off my case so now I can reveal my secret. I am a trans woman. So that’s all I suppose. I believe I have time for one question. Yes, in the back.

(From the house:)

Reporter: Charli, now that you can live your life openly as a trans woman, what’s next?

Charli: What’s next? (A beat.) Now we party. 365.

(The screen flashes green, leaving Charli as a silhouette. As this happens, we hear a short “bumpin’ that” from 365. Blackout. End of play.)