Drakonis

Brotherhood

"I'd rather not join today, Uhroh," I said, lying in my canopy, staring up at the fabric with a sense of dread.

Uhroh, already dressed in his gear, threw a stuffed pillow at my face. The impact made me shoot up, glaring at him. "Stop being a wimp. If any of those kids tease you, just tell me, and I'll put them in their place," he said, finishing up his preparations with a casual shrug.

I groaned in response. Uhroh, despite his good intentions, didn't understand what it was like for me. It wasn't just about the physical differences—though my hair and skin made me stand out in a way that made me feel like an outsider. It was more about the way I felt, isolated from everyone else because of these traits I didn't ask for and couldn't change.

I stared at him, watching as he adjusted his gear and headed for the door. My thoughts drifted to what it might have been like if I had been born without these differences. What if I had normal hair and skin like the rest of the family? Would I still feel this constant sense of alienation, or would things be different?

Uhroh was always confident and comfortable in his own skin. He fit in easily with the other kids and was often praised for his natural ability and leadership. I envied him that ease and wondered if my life would have been easier if I had been born like him.

"Maybe you should just go," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay here."

Uhroh stopped at the door and looked back, his brow furrowing with concern. "No, no, no. Because then Dad will scold me for not dragging you there." His voice carried a mix of annoyance and genuine worry.

I sighed, sitting up on the canopy. "I just don't feel up to it today," I said, my voice tinged with frustration. "It's not that simple for me."

Uhroh, though he meant well, didn't understand the weight of my feelings. His own self-assured demeanor and normal appearance made it easy for him to blend in and navigate social situations without a second thought. I envied his confidence, his natural fit within our world. His hair was a shade of brown that matched our parents', his skin was a familiar tone, and he moved through life with a sense of ease that I found elusive.

In contrast, my appearance—marked by unusual hair and skin that set me apart—was a constant reminder of how different I was. It wasn't just physical; it felt like a barrier between me and everyone else. My differences made me stand out in ways I couldn't ignore, and it was this feeling of being perpetually on the outside that weighed heavily on me.

"Uhroh," I started, trying to articulate the depth of my feelings, "it's not just about going to that place. It's about being different from everyone else. When I'm out there, people notice. They look at me like I don't belong, like I'm... some kind of anomaly."

He frowned, his expression softening as he seemed to grasp a sliver of my struggle. "I get that it's tough, but you're not an anomaly. You're my brother, and that's what matters."

"I know you say that," I replied, my voice cracking slightly, "but it's hard to ignore how different I am from everyone else. When I see you and the others, it's like you all belong in this world, and I'm just... standing apart."

Uhroh stepped back into the room, his face showing a mixture of frustration and sympathy. "Look, I'm sorry if I don't get it completely. It's just—Dad and Mom expect us to be a team. And if one of us isn't pulling their weight, it's on all of us. But I don't want you to feel like you have to do this alone. We're family, and that means something."

I nodded, appreciating his effort to understand, even if it fell short of fully bridging the gap between us. "Thanks, Uhroh. I know you mean well. It's just hard sometimes."

Uhroh walked over and sat down beside me, a rare show of vulnerability from him. "You're right. I can't truly understand what it's like for you, but I want to. Maybe I'm not the best at showing it, but I'm here for you, whether you're out there with us or not."

His words offered a measure of comfort, but the internal struggle of feeling so different from my brothers and peers remained. It was a challenge I faced daily, one that no amount of well-meaning words could completely resolve. But in that moment, Uhroh's presence and effort to reach out gave me a small sense of solace.

"Thanks," I said quietly, my voice a bit steadier.

"Alright," Uhroh agreed, giving me a supportive nod. "Now get your ass up and let's go."

As he left, I felt a bit more grounded, though the feelings of difference and isolation still lingered. I jumped and got dressed meeting him quickly outside.

Elia was with Mom today, recovering from his injury and getting a pass from class. As I arrived at the base, I managed a weak smile at Dr. Evans, hoping for a bit of comfort from her friendly demeanor.

"Good morning, Doctor," I greeted, trying to keep my tone upbeat.

"Why, good morning, Mister Loran," she responded with her usual warm smile. "Every day you look exactly like your mother," she added, her tone genuine as she glanced at me kindly.

"Thanks, Doctor," I said, feeling a small measure of relief.

"Yeah, every day he looks like a human," Gunter's voice cut through the air, laced with mockery as he made the comment loud enough for everyone to hear. His cruel snicker followed, and Dr. Evans shot him a sharp glare.

"Gunter, I am human. Is there a problem with that?" she snapped, her irritation palpable as Gunter's smirk faltered and he muttered an apology, retreating into uncomfortable silence.

"Ignore them, Loran," Dr. Evans whispered, her voice soft but firm as she leaned closer. "They're just trying to get a reaction. Don't let them get to you."

I nodded, feeling a pang of gratitude mixed with the familiar sting of their words. As I joined my age group, I could feel the eyes of others on me, the whispers and laughter that followed me down the hallway. The comments weren't new, but they always managed to cut deeper than I wished to admit.

"Hey, look at the freak," one of the other kids jeered as I passed by. "What's it like being so different all the time?"

Another voice joined in, "Does it hurt to be such a freak? You look like you belong in a circus."

Their words stung, each one hitting me like a physical blow. I kept my head down, trying to ignore the snickers and harsh glances. It wasn't just about the name-calling; it was about the way their words seemed to confirm my deepest fears—that I was somehow fundamentally wrong or out of place.

As I reached the area where my group was gathering.

The day dragged on, each interaction with others feeling like a test of endurance. The comments and taunts from the kids were relentless, their cruelty a constant reminder of how different I was. Despite my best efforts to stay positive, the weight of their words hung heavy over me.