I lift my feet out of the icy water. They are heavy as I cannot feel them any longer. My ankles won't bend- they are frozen. But I don't care. Why should I? I drop them back in. I feel a river of blood run down the side of my head and drip to the already stained gravel. That's where it hit me. The large frozen stick aimed to kill. I almost wish it had.
I'm ten years old. I'm supposed to be out playing with my friends, catching frogs, being scolded for playing in the mud. But not me. Instead, I am here, under this bridge, hiding from them. Why? Because i'm different. They call me a freak- a demon. Mom always sait that they were wrong. That I was as normal as every one of them. I used to believe her... But now i'm not so sure.
I want to cry, to scream, but I don't. What's the point? No one cares. No one would ever try to help a demon. And that's what I am. That's what I must be. I am chased, hunted, feared, hated. Because that's what I am. What else could I be?
I am cold and my feet are starting to hurt. But I don't care. My stomach aches with hunger but there's nothing to eat. It doesn't matter. There's no point in nourishing myself- all It will do is preserve my misery for one more day. Oh, if only that icy stick had hit harder! It would be over then. No more running, no more hiding. But... If I really am a demon, would that mean I would go to hell? Maybe but I don't care. It has to be better than this.
I'm ten years old. I'm supposed to be out playing with my friends, catching frogs, being scolded for playing in the mud. But not me. Instead, I am here, under this bridge, hiding from them. Why? Because i'm different. They call me a freak- a demon. Mom always sait that they were wrong. That I was as normal as every one of them. I used to believe her... But now i'm not so sure.
I want to cry, to scream, but I don't. What's the point? No one cares. No one would ever try to help a demon. And that's what I am. That's what I must be. I am chased, hunted, feared, hated. Because that's what I am. What else could I be?
I am cold and my feet are starting to hurt. But I don't care. My stomach aches with hunger but there's nothing to eat. It doesn't matter. There's no point in nourishing myself- all It will do is preserve my misery for one more day. Oh, if only that icy stick had hit harder! It would be over then. No more running, no more hiding. But... If I really am a demon, would that mean I would go to hell? Maybe but I don't care. It has to be better than this.
