The Many Forms of I

Special Child

This was the first story I ever wrote which was actually good enough to put here, so, yeah...

I'm special, in a very special kind of way.

... What?

Of course I can't fly. That's ridiculous. Have you seen my arms?

And invisibility is just plain daft. How can I walk if I can't see my feet? I'm just a kid, you know.

No, I'm special, in a very special kind of way.

***

I do so love animals. When they see me, they run. I can taste their fear on the tip of my tongue. It's delicious. And when I actually taste them...

Ah, now that is true sensation.

***

Some people say I'm cute. Adorable, even.

Not for long.

***

I always knew I was admired by my Auntie Ellis. She would always say, "What beautiful white eyes you have!"

(By the way, Auntie Ellis has been in and out of the asylum for years.)

My mom's blind. Either that or she's insane, because she always says, "Actually, Ellis, she has my blue eyes."

***

My dad is gone. He was taken by the men in blue but I don't really care. He was a bastard, if you don't mind my saying. He was a drunkard, and threw broken bottles at me.

I made sure the blue men got him.

***

My mom works 24/7 in a bar. It's a seedy bar, down by the Bayaud. It's a place where men smoke, talk dirty and grope women.

(Luckily, I'm too short to be groped.)

It's also my home.

***

I've lived there all my life and never wanted to leave. The bartenders all know me and they give me free stuff. I started drinking margaritas at age 5.

I hated the waitresses though. Hated the way they dressed, hated the way they moved, hated the way they talked like they didn't care about little kids (like me) who were shorter than their high heels.

I especially hated how they sounded when I tasted them. Really, people with such high voices should be able to scream louder, shouldn't they?

***

I'm eleven this year and I go to the Green Anaconda School of the Gifted. Because that's what I am. Gifted. Not like the others. I can't sing to save my life, and when I try to act, I just freeze up.

Not everyone knows who, or what I am, but they can sense that I'm special. That's why no one talks to me in school. But actually, I don't really care. I don't need friends. I don't need anyone's care.

But there was one girl. She was special too. I sensed her the moment I saw her.

Her name was Sarah-Anne. What a beautiful name. And she was a beautiful girl, but not in the conventional way. She had raven-black hair and forest-green eyes. She was the only person I ever wanted to be friends with.

Her gift was the gift of art. She made heartbreaking, lifelike paintings, paintings of silver elves dancing through ancient forests, paintings of golden sunsets and broken china women. I could see the life in her paintings and I knew she was the one for me.