He couldn't keep this up. Every day, he had to run from his classmates, who relentlessly chased him over the grounds. It was like a sport to them. Catch-the-Freak. If you could hit his legs and feet, ten points. His torso and arms were worth twenty. But the greatest prize of all was his head, or more importantly his face. Oh look, they would chortle, Freak's got a face full of snow. Again.
You'd think, it being Christmas, that they'd leave him alone. No, the holidays only seemed to make them stronger, more determined to bruise his pale skin. Bruises seemed to satisfy them most, more than cuts or scratches. Bruises lasted longer. Their favourites were scars, but he rarely stared still long enough to allow them an oppurtunity to cut deep.
He couldn't keep this up. His chest felt ready to explode; the effort of sprinting over uneven turf made it difficult to breathe. At least the snow-filled air cooled him. Without its crispness, he would have given up much sooner. The ground beneath his feet changed from frosty grass to solid pavestones. Some would say this was lucky, but his balance wasn't brilliant. His vision was blurred by the flecks falling from the sky. At least now there were things he could hide behind, like old buildings or walls.
Like the reindeers of old, he pranced into a back alley, pressing his back against the cold stone wall. He slipped to the floor, hidden by the shadows of a paperbin. The thunder of his classmates passed seconds later, shaking the powdery snow on the ground. After, there was the bliss of silence. Only footprints remained, soon to be buried by the snow. He huffed out a deep breath, rubbing his ankle. It had not truly healed since his last escapade with the classmates and gave him great pain in cold weather.
He couldn't keep this up.
