Born of starlight and shadows

~Part two~

Honestly, part of me wanted to feel sorry for the girl. She looked so lost, standing there by the lockers. Kind of reminded me of myself. Just drifting from one place to another, never able to truly be a part of what I saw around me. Forever an outcast, no matter how much I tried to blend in. Eventually I just stopped trying. I didn't see the point anymore.

It wasn't as if anyone would remember me when I disappeared a few months later. No, Sara Smith or Jane Brown was just too plain, too forgettable. But that was for the best. I knew it, I knew it well. That didn't mean I had to like it. It's funny, really, if you think about it. At this point, I've lost track of how many different names I've had to wear, and each time we went somewhere new, oh, I'd wished I could just be allowed to be myself for once.

And now, when I'm finally allowed to do just that, I wish I didn't have the privilege of being called by my given name (which I know isn't exactly unique or even that exciting, but, hey, it's mine) because now, it means staying hidden doesn't matter. It's only a matter of time before my world falls apart-completely. I don't know when or where or how, but I know it'll happen. And soon.

Because I'm marked. Always have been. Or, at least, for as long as it really matters, anyway. Sure, before I turned five, I lived. I existed. But I was so young back then, so innocent. Now I can't remember much, just a few flashes here and there. Playing with a doll that got lost in the first few moves. Helping a much younger, happier version of my father mix cookie dough while listening to his playlist that I called "super old" even back then (it had songs older than I was!). My mother is, unfortunately, in a few of them as well.

Turning on a cartoon I never liked because even then, I found it hard sitting still for long periods of time. I was restless, even as a child. And then, of course, tucking me in bed at night, telling me that she loved me. I wished I could forget about that. It would make things easier, so much easier.

But all the memories I have of my early life show me how much things have changed. How much I've changed. It doesn't do to dwell on them, though. They're a remnant of a past I will never be able to return to. Never.

When the present has been far from ideal, and the future too terrible to even think about, what am I to do, though?

I really shouldn't complain. My dad has it far worse and I know it. But...that's probably why I listen to music pretty much 24/7, if I can. It takes my mind off things.

Right now I'm not, but that's because I need to focus. Which, admittedly, has always been something I've had trouble with. If you need proof, well, my last report card says it all. Actually, did I even stay at Greenwood High long enough for them to give me a report card?

Right. No, I didn't. I left just three months after arriving, which, for me is actually pretty long. Ah, well. Figures that it couldn't last.

Anyway, I swear I can hear the clock ticking in my brain, counting down the amount of time I've got left to figure something out. Never before have I actually told one of them the truth. Then again, I've never walked into a public high school with my actual face on full display. Sounds a bit strange, I know.

Sometimes I may hate what I was given, but there are times when it can come in handy. Many, many times, actually. Why hadn't I done so today? It might have...well, it doesn't matter what might have happened.

Picture this for me, if you will:

You're standing outside of a two-story brick building, a school. You're standing, loitering, I believe is the word, on the sidewalk, casually glancing at the cars in the parking lot just ahead of you, full of cars, looking for your ride. From where you are, you can see a number of students roughly your age, give or take a few years, some clustered together in little groups, talking, some standing by themselves. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a girl walk past, but you don't give her a second thought. On the surface, she looks like an ordinary high-school age girl: not terribly short, or tall, somewhere in between. Average, you might think. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. Short brown hair.