Paint me.
I am fifteen years old.
I have long uneven cut brown hair and brown eyes.
I am a boy.
You probably thought I was a girl. I get that a lot.
I don't want to say my name, so make one up.
I have one black freckle on my jaw line.
I have a small nose and my top lip is fuller than my bottom lip.
I have dark crescents under my eyes that have become as permanent as a tattoo.
I have thirteen thin scars on my left arm and twenty-seven on my right arm.
I have fresh scratches on my legs.
A busted lip and a bruise.
YOU ARE READING
The Story Of Sixteen Cranes
AcakThis is a story about a boy. A world with only a boy. Only one name. One character but no protagonist. This is a story about two boys. A world with billions of people. Only two names, but it ends at sixteen cranes.
