I try not to draw attention to myself. It’s easier that way. Especially when you are somewhat different – like me I suppose. On my birth certificate it says I was a human born in Kenya on the 22nd April 1995. However, my name is European and despite all the documents, nothing explains how I ended up here in the U.S.
I looked out the half-open window of my apartment. The street ahead was crammed with various vehicles that buzzed with road rage in that morning’s rush hour. A gleaming red sports car blasted its horn at the rundown car in front and a frail old lady hopelessly attempted to cross the road. I watched curiously as a figure stepped out from the alleyway behind her. He outstretched his gloved hand as if to help her. Instead he snatched her bag and shoved onto the hard pavement. He sprinted back down the alleyway without a second glance. I was sure that if I could see under his hood I would find a crook’s smile – yellowing teeth and stale breath.
Slowly, I turned away from the window. I knew all too well that it would probably over an hour before anyone had the sense to pull over and help that poor old lady. It just proved how vindictive the world had become. At times I was uncertain if there was even a difference between good and bad. What is good when “good people” act hateful and malicious?
The apartment was silent apart from the distant hum of the traffic jam. My parents had left for work half an hour ago after trying to convince me to attend school. They had stopped when they learnt I was having another one of my bad days. I wished they hadn’t.
Something...Something inside me was telling me I had to go to school, and if I didn’t something very, very bad would happen. I inhaled sharply. Deep down I knew I could not deny this urge even if I chained myself to the kitchen table. Frustrated, I grabbed my school bag and started walking to school. Hopefully school wouldn’t mind too much about me being two hours late.