My second one shot written from experiece. And what mamma told me. Hoping people don't ditch me again. Enjoy- sorryit had to be sad. not chara death no worries
Alone.
A lone word, yet harbors such overwhelming rage. A swirling mass of emotion compressed into one lone word.
Alone.
To speak of the Black Sheep of the group, he who stands alone in the rain. To speak of the one whose pain lingers unnoticed in the rise and ebb of daily activity.
Alone.
To try to deny that you are alone, and think of happier times. However when you think of one, your mind screams no, it cannot be, and horrid memories come flashing back. The more you push them away, the more they come at you.
Alone.
Why do I know? Why do I speak of the pain in such way?
I was one.
I was alone.
...
Hadn't I? Since my birth, hadn't I?
Since my birth, I had been special. The pale skin tinted with a slight pink, the golden hair despite my Asian bloodline. my unusually quiet entrance into the world. I was always set apart from other children, be it difference in looks or aura. Mine was always an aura of uneasiness, awkwardess, or rather just something... different. I was painfully distant from the world, and in return they were painfully distant from me.
Sure, I did receive random boosts in number of friends, but they all died down anyway. Nothing lasts for me.
Nothing lasts.
Ah, painful as it is, it is still undeniably a truth.
Like, for example, there had been the Chatango. I was happy. People talked to me, with the promise of returning tomorrow. They did, for some time. I was always happy, and I smiled when the replies came, be it just a full stop or just a smiley.
Harsh reality. I was naive indeed. As if happiness can last for a person like me?
They stopped coming. They stopped replying to my simple messages. They ditched me.
Ditched me. Robbed me of a place to belong.
Primary 4 starts. I took up a spot in Chinese Dance. Oh, what hell it was! My classmates who joined quickly left the group. I was alone.
No. More than that. I was more than alone. I was...
Outcast.
They shot me stares as I pass by. They snicker as I dance. They push me away from their social circles. They ban me from their games. They even forbid me to touch their bags, water bottles, anything. They'd confront me if I so much brushed a hair against them or their things, maybe give me a black eye or two. The most they'd done to me was ganging up on me to shout at me. Once, when I had kicked way better than the biggest psychological bully, they avoided me.
Avoided me. What was there to avoid? Pressure. Too much pressure. I'll stop. I'll lock myself. lock. Lock. LOCK.
I stopped attending the sessions. I quit. I quit.
I told no one. I told no one of my inner turmoil. So no one knew.
No one.
Soon, I managed to make friends. But only a handful. Though I knew many people, only a handful could I trust.
Thank you, Kous, for being my first friend.
Yet another event must occur before I truly realized how lonely I was.
I discovered a website by the name of DeviantART. I was happy again. People looked at my drawings and praised them. They praised my work, what I made with my two bare hards, knead this, knead that, cut this, cut that. I was proud. I recieved many replies and comments and notices of people favouriting my work everyday.
But it had to die, did it not?
Ah, like how it rose, the notices ebbed. They stopped looking at them, the drawings I painstakingly put hours into in order to please the crowd. Futile, huh? Those I knew who commented at least everyday now no longer commented. Only the foreign commented.
Distant.
They put themselves at a distance from me again. I try to reach for them but no! They vanish! They ditched me, they ditched me again!
Why do you leave? Why do you leave me roaming the streets, to fend for myself?
Alone.
I have always been since birth.
...Hadn't I?
...I have been different, special.
But you needn't push me away like that.