They said my birth was either the greatest blasphemy to God or the most grotesque jest created by Him. My parents were all nice, good-looking people who had had a lot of hopes into their firstborn. All shattered when I was delivered to their hands.
They said my existence was the vivid proof of God’s rage to our kind. My parents believed it. My relatives believed it. I myself was taught to believe it.
Could I not be convinced that I was a freak? Take a look at my parents, my siblings and you can tell. Huh, you wouldn’t dare to look at me? I knew it! I knew my sight was an agony to any eyes.
They told my parents that they should have left me on the hospital steps the day I was born. They told my parents that they should have had an abortion the moment my first image was caught on the screen. Still, however grotesque I was, the truth remained that I was their own seed. For that, they never abandoned me. For that, I was grateful to them.
My days were measured by the thickness of covers to conceal my hideous form. My classmates stayed far away from me; my teachers preserved a distance from me. All of them avoided me as if I was an epidemic. And even if they never saw past my covers, they knew me to be grotesque.
I told myself that I would not lament my solitude. I had learned to get used to it.
I had never had a friend. Till him. Covered in bandages, he came and took the empty seat next to mine. One look into each other’s eyes and we both understood.
Freaks seek freaks, they jeered us but I paid them no mind. As long as I knew I was not the only existence in this unfair world, I was not afraid the tiniest bit.
We both peeled off our covers and were astonished by our looks. His eyes, blue as the summer sea, were the same as mine. His hair, light as sunray, was the same as mine. His skin, pale as the full moon, was also the same as mine.
We possessed the same look and were seen grotesque by our kind. But did that matter now? I had him and he had me. We were no longer alone.
“Let’s go somewhere far away when we grow up. Nobody will see us. We won’t have to hide ourselves,” I said, my head leaning on his lean shoulders.
“Even so, they still know us to be freaks. Nobody will accept us.”
“But we have each other, don’t we?”
He did not answer. His trembling shoulders gave me an unfathomably eerie feeling.
He came to me one day with the brightest smile on his lips.
“I’ve thought about this method for a long time but never have had the guts to try. But you give me courage. Together, we can do it.”
His hand held out a small knife. Sunlight glistened on its sharp edge.
Fear assaulted me as the light of the blade reflected in my eyes.
“Will it hurt?” I asked meekly, despite pain was not my genuine concern.
“Fear not my darling. Think about the day we can say farewell to our covers. Think about being accepted. Think about being loved instead of loathed.”
His enthusiasm chilled me. Rather than physical pains, I was more afraid of being the only left.
Without any smiles, I nodded my head.