Badra

I was born in Arabia, to God only knows who. My mama dumped me with an orphanage. Apparently, the orphanage wasn’t fond of children; they used corporal punishment to ‘teach’ us, and often abused their right to use it. They thought food was wasted on children; I got one meal a day. I hated them. Sometimes, I felt I could rip them apart if I wanted to, I just didn’t know how. Then they came, some rich people from an English land and they took me away from Arabia, to Europe. They asked me to call them mama and papa. They’ve been very nice, but I can’t seem to trust them.

 Everyone is so big in Europe; they all think I’m eight, not fifteen. It’s intimidating, I’m always afraid someone will pick up a ruler and make my knuckles bleed if said something wrong, so I keep quiet. People also tend to think that having snow white hair at fifteen is a crime, so I try to cover my hair with a cap.

I’ve been at this new school for two years, and no one has acknowledged my presence, mainly because I don’t want them too, except for a boy who keeps growling at me. His name is Helios. He scares me the most.

I climbed into my school bus, my head bowed beneath my cap. A few new girls are picking a fight with Helios. I don’t know why I want to help them, I have an intense feeling like I should, but I can’t. I won’t. I’ll just get hurt. So I just sat on the front seat and covered my head in an attempt to remain invisible.

The End

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