She sat in her room that evening, quiet and unmoving on the floor. She had left her curtains open and let the moonlight stream in, illuminating her as she sat still. The house was oddly quiet that night; her parents had drank themselves sillier than normal and passed out in the living room.
Despite her unmoving frame, she was fully awake, eyes wide open and looking out the window. She concentrated on her hearing as well, hoping that the quiet of the house was not something she was imagining, that her parents had actually passed out and weren't going to sneak up behind her.
Her parents hadn't always been this cruel; a little neglectful, but never cruel. Her parents had always been alcoholics, yoyoing between overindulgence and abstinance. The cruelty had started when they found out she could change her form and look like anyone.
They had never called any names, but it was always on the tip of their tongues. Insults to her acting performance seemed to be more appropriate it seemed when either her mother or father dragged her downstairs by the hair and demanded some celebrity performance or another. Some nights, when her father was drunk enough and her mother had already passed out, he easily forgot that it was simply his dughter in his living, pretending to be someone he wanted. Her father often ended up showing her his bedroom.
She never shuddered at the memories, this was her life. She didn't deserve anything better, she was, after all, a m—
She squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn't even bring herself to think of the word, to form it in her mind. The word was too… embarassing and shameful. It was the reason why she kept hiding her true appearance behind the one she used to have: a blonde haired and blue eyed teen.
It was simply another lie added onto dozens of others. She had given up on the notion that she could one day live a truthful life, where she didn't have to hide anything or cover up the truth. It was an ideal that had been shattered when her closest friend ran shrieking from her house the day she showed her friend how she really looked. She had never felt more alone than that day alone. The cruelty that ensued was even tolerable compared to the lonelyness and isolation.
When she had gone back to school, rumours had spread before she had even woken up that morning. There was no corner of the school that had not heard her name. Counsellors and teachers confronted her, threatening her with expulsion if so much as a fire was lit, or pencils were moved without any probable cause. But as she had revealed nothing she was allowed to continue attending the school in isolation. She spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. Still, it was better than being at home.
Life had become a haze a short while later; the events in her life simply happened. There was nothing she could do to change them. She sat many nights as she did tonight, on her floor bathing in the moonlight. No night was special or important. Nothing that happened affected her. She was just there, for the amusement of her parents or for her schoolmates to oppress her.
Tonight was different however. It seemed the entire day was different and was conspiring to bring her out of the haze she had been living in for several years now. On her way to school that morning she saw a man with white hair wrap a chain link fence around a man. She had stood and gaped, overcome with disbelief that she almost let her cover slide and reveal her own blue skin.
He had looked at her, staring at her soul, and had a knowing look on his face. The same kind her father used when he wasn't drunk and she kept her old image. It shook her to the bones and she bolted, running as fast as she could to school, thinking she would be safe there.
When she came home from school her parents had ignored her, letting her go hide in her room for a few hours before they came to get her. But they never came, and she kept sitting the way she had always done. But this time, mulling over what had happened that day.
The man had been so brave; doing what he did, out in public as well. She bit her lip, what would her life be like if she could walk around with her blue skin? Could she even be unafraid of herself to try? Could she be even unafraid enough to look at herself in the mirror, or could she only be strong enough to go make it through each day the way things were?
Another hour passed and still no one came. She wondered if her parents had taken anything else besides alcohol that night. If that were the case, then they would never know if she pulled the mirror out from under her bed.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by
- "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost