FLINTA* Voices create space to speak without restriction, without dilution, and without apology. We opened our platform to FLINTA* writers and creators who confront and redefine gendered realities, who understand empowerment not as a trend, but as necessity, and who expose patriarchy not as abstraction, but as lived experience.

Monster

My head was underwater.

I couldn’t breathe, but my mind was alive.

So alive, I could feel every tingling sensation in my body: a little movement in my index finger,

my hair on my scalp, the skin on my hands.

But also something else.

Something foreign.

Something my body did not know.

I couldn’t feel anything of it—no texture, no tingling, nothing that showed life.

Because it wasn’t mine.

Not my hand on the back of my head, forcing my head below the surface.

The space of breathable air was taken away.

Even though I felt so much of my body, I did not move.

I knew I wanted to do something, but I couldn’t.

And then it was gone.

The pressure on the back of my head.

And an immediate move happened.

A huge inhale.

My lungs reaching for the air.

A weird feeling of relief. Discomfort following right after.

Like my body didn’t know how to handle a moment like this.

So we parted ways.

And after seconds of trying to cope, the hand came back and pushed me down again.

I didn’t feel like drowning.

He always knew when to put me out so I wouldn’t leave this world.

He knew how long he could take me to the edge before falling down.But something in me already died.

Or so it felt at first.

Years of being in the dark. In the body of a so-called woman, so it is normal that this happens.

Not knowing how to move.

How to breathe.

Body and mind disconnected. Like a little crack in the window that you could never unsee when

you wanted to take a look outside

The little voice in my head: ‘Maybe it was just a nightmare.‘

Where the monster is chasing you and you can’t run away.

That’s what they call it. „Monster.“ „Beast.“ Like some mystical creature that found a way out of a

fantasy book.

But it’s not.

It is a he.

A Man.

A father, a lawyer, a teacher, an actor, a dentist, a doctor, a friend, a husband, a politician.

They are no fantasy figures.

They are men. In the world we live in right now. Right here.

And they live with us.

Work with us.

They are not only attacking in the dark corners of the street.

But the safety of a home

An office

A bar

A bus

I was born with the body of a woman.

But it has never been my job to keep the blanket over my naked feet so the monster can’t reach

me.

But the job of the Men to stop being like a creature that we can only handle when it’s closed up

in a story of a book.

About the Author

Sina is 24 years old and works in theatre. She has been active in the independent theatre scene for several years as an actor, director, and writer. In her work, it is especially important to her to draw attention to problematic conditions within the theatre world and to actively contribute to questioning and breaking down outdated structures.

She is committed to creating new working environments where collaboration with others can foster healthier, more supportive dynamics — free from emotional exploitation. A topic that deeply concerns her is sexual abuse against FLINTA* individuals, which is why it is also important to her to write about it in order to help create new narratives.

@s.inamaria