His pink hair and wildly patterned clothing made one's eyes nearly pop out of his head. As so nearly did my own as I watched him pass by. He could not have been much older than me, perhaps only fifteen or sixteen years of age.
"What a strange boy," a woman, standing on the curb with her small pedigree dog at her heels, made this quiet comment.
"Betcha his mother wouldn't have a hard time huntin' him down." The big, burly butcher scoffed, standing in the doorway of his shop.
"I don't find him all strange," I said softly, meaning this mostly for my own ears. "Come again?" The woman's eyes widened.
"I do not find him all strange," I repeated, watching the boy, now with a dash of admiration.
"But look at 'im," the butcher gestured dramatically. "He's a walking rainbow!" A guttural chuckle rolled out of Butcher's mouth and made my ears itch.
The boy must have heard Butcher, for, he looked a little saddened, I could have even swore that his hot pink hair drooped a little. "Do not say such mean things!" I defended the boy, raising my voice to be heard over Butcher's continuous chuckling.
The woman tsked and reprimanded me as she scooped up her pedigree. "You naughty child! You have no place to be scolding your elders!"
"Then don't scold me!" I threw up a defensive, verbal blockade. "I was merely..."
"You silly girl!" Butcher's rumbling voice easily overpowered my own. "You are one to talk, coming to the aid of Rainbows over there. Look at you!" He gestured rather grandly to my wheel-chair-bound body. "You're no better! You're as strange as he is!
YOU ARE READING
Being Different
FantasyHis pink hair and wildly patterned clothing made one's eyes nearly pop out of his head. As so nearly did my own as I watched him pass by.
