The other side of the Tracks

I looked at her, she looked at me. Nothing drew our eyes to each other, just the normal human instinct and our shared openness so we did not break eye contact. Sitting at the bus stop, she smiled slowly and stood up as the bus pulled up, shielding her from my gaze. I scared everyone I saw, why did she not run? 

My whole life I had been running, just running. When I was fifteen, I ran away from home. Three years later I was running from my girlfriend's house. A week earlier I was running from the Police. I sat in that dirty little cafe sipping my black coffee that tasted so bitter that I had to add three sugars just to be able to keep it down. Many people, once clapping eyes on me, turned their head in the opposite direction. I did not blame them, I was hardly a pretty sight. My parents were both born in Africa and moved here to England, hoping for a better chance at life. Then I came along. I was born an albino. Rumors and stories flowed freely through our town and our family.

That was why I ran away, I couldn't stand the fact that I was shaming my family and putting my parents under so much stress. I'm twenty now, with little education. I earn my living by painting, it being the only thing I am good at. It wasn't good money, but I wasn't starving. Each night my bed was a soft patch of grass under a tree, each morning, my breakfast whatever i could scavenge and each day almost intolerably lonely.  

The End

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