This exercise in English inspired me.
Hey, my name's freak. Well, that's what a few passers by call me when they see me in the streets. I'm invisible, you see? Homeless along with that.
My real name is.... Is um..... M.. Mitch? I'm not quite sure but yeah, I think it's Mitch. I'm not called that very often, actually not at ALL, because no-one knows who I am and no-one wants to get involved with me. No-one looks at me (duh), but they know I'm there. They know 'that invisible guy who's clothes are visible'. They know that by the grocery store on 46th street, there's some guy sitting there, sometimes singing to earn some cash.
But they avoid me, they dodge my area of the sidewalk, they glare at what would be my eyes (if I actually had any visible ones). I think they're afra- wait I know they're afraid. They're scared that I'm going to do something to them, just like the 'freak' I am. I would do that if I had to, I have the powers to hurt them but I'm too much of a nice person! I wouldn't hurt a fly.
I don't remember anything about my past, only what I hate and don't hate. I am well educated, sorta, and I somehow keep myself decent looking, although no-one can see me, and smelling.
Anyways, enough rambling. Sit back and relax, grab your pop-corn, soda, and blankets, although the following flashbacks ain't intertaining.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was sitting there, singing along to Beyonce from someone's car radio, when I heard footsteps towards my area of the sidewalk.
Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at me, then to the person, then to me again, in complete silence. Even the fucking cars stopped moving.
"What the fuck are you staring at??!?!!" The person, who was an attractive, blonde, tall, man, yelled and everyone murdered and carried on with their daily business.
"You have a beautiful voice. May I join you?" He asked me and I nodded, biting my lip.
He carefully sat down next to me and pulled out a sketchpad.
"What's your name?" I asked him as he started to draw... Me?
"Scott. What about you?"
"Freak." I whispered and he scoffed.
"What's your real name?" He giggled and I shrugged.
"I think it's Mitch..." I wondered and he nodded.
"I hope you like it." He bit his lip and handed me the book, fiddling with his hands afterwards.
I carefully opened the sketchpad and gasped at the beautiful draeng that lay in my hands.
