Home?  I have none.  I like to think that I do, that I just haven't found it yet.  But one thing I know for certain, THIS IS NOT MY HOME.

My father once tried to convince me that this was my home.  But he's wrong.  If this were my home I wouldn't always feel so out of place.  I would be able to walk down the street without getting the feeling.  That feeling you get when you know someone is staring at you, the sensation of their eyes roaming you up and down, making you feel violated, making you want to run.  I hate sticking out wherever I go.  I hate my pasty white skin.  I hate my straight blond hair.  I would give anything to have skin and hair like a chameleon, that would simply blend in with my surroundings.  But my eyes I would keep.  I could always where sunglasses when I'm going out, but I could never give up their brilliant blue sparkle.  Not because I find it pretty--I hate the color blue--but because my father always tells me that I have my mother's eyes, and even if I've lost ever other reminder I ever had of her, I will always cherish the eyes that she gave me.

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This is in truth a bit of an experiment. I am attempting to build for you a character, not by describing her, but by letting you into her heart in a series of short vignette-like chapters, each of which ought to not only give you a little more information about her and her world, but will let you experience life from her perspective. Enjoy!

updated Jul 28 '10 by Catastrophe