Broken Poetry

Black and White

As a young girl, I was always bullied because of my unusual white hair. Other children in my elementary school would laugh and call me an old grannie with gray hair, or tell me that I bleached my hair wrong. That was all they did, until I went into middle school.

Middle school was hard enough already with all the extra homework and projects due on certain days, and gymnastics from five thirty to seven thirty as well as the drive back which brought me home at around nine. I didn't need other students breaking my pencils and stealing my book bag as I tried to do my homework, or yelling harsh comments while I tried to focus on my studies, and because of my daily gymnastics practice, I fell asleep in class every so often, allowing other kids to pull my hair to wake me up.

I tried to tell my teachers about the other kids, but they only gave me disgusted looks and continued with their work. One time, as I tried to tell another careless teacher, I snapped.

"Just because I have an unusual hair color, doesn't mean you can ignore my problems! You're my teacher! You're supposed to help me succeed in life with as little obstacles as possible! Not to make more of them!" My eyes began to water as I struggled to hold back my tears.

"If you had white hair, which you were born with, you would want a teacher who doesn't care about how you look, but how you feel inside. Right now I feel lonely, tired, frustrated, chewed up and spit back out, like nobody understands "who" I am and only cares for "what" I am." My voice came out shaky and tears slid down my cheeks.

I stood at the side of the teacher's desk crying, but he had his eyes on the computer screen the whole time, not even bothering to look at me. Or maybe he just couldn't bear to look me in the eyes, but that was no excuse.

Things like that happen all the time to me. I feel invisible and alone, and never can recall a time when I was truly happy. Not faking. Not hiding. Just being happy on my own. I don't think I even remember what happiness feels like anymore.

At my home, I don't feel like I am at home. I have two other siblings one older and one younger. They both get the attention from our parents, and act as if I am not their sibling, or their friend.

Ellie, my younger sister, talks to me occasionally, but mostly plays with Chloe, my older sister, whom never talks to me unless she is asking for me to pass the salt.

Ellie was always bubbly and graceful. She spoke to whomever would listen to her stories about her many friends and their adventures. She had pale blonde hair and slightly tanned skin with a slender build. Her teeth were as white as my hair to go perfectly with the smile she always wore.

Chloe was a bit shy, but could make friends just as well as Ellie and was a bit on the chubby side. She had strawberry blonde hair and loved to cook, which is why she is the president of the culinary club.

My mother and I don't usually get along. If I don't give my two sisters what they want, she drops the bomb on me and makes me pay for refusing to 'share', but I just think that she doesn't like me. She had tried to put me up for adoption at one point in time.

My father was never home, and probably didn't realize that I existed. I would bet my life savings, that he never thought of my well-being during his lunchtime or work time.

My parents usually forgot me at home when we go to fun places like the arcade or parks, and if they do take me, they usually forget me there too.

Sometimes I feel as if my dog Buddy is the only one who cares, probably because dogs are color blind and sees my hair like Ellie's.

Every day would be filled with sad stories and black and white pictures. No color. No difference. Just black... And white...

But one day, there was a spark of color.

It started when the school was put into lockdown at around two in the afternoon when a teenager charged into the school with a gun, and began to shoot through classrooms.

My classmates were shaking in fear beside me as I clenched the pencils in my hand and hot tears ran down my cheeks.

A scream.

Gunshots.

I thought about why I was crying. What did I have to live for?

No friends.

No real family.

So why was I crying?

My heart raced as more screams and gunshots erupted from the classroom next door.

I shivered in my spot, which wasn't a very safe one. I was right next to the door where if it were to open, the back would slam into my face. 

Still confused as to why I was crying, I stood up, pushed my back against the wall and inhaled deeply as footsteps pounded not too far from our door.

Within seconds, the door flung open, causing it to slam into my nose. I bit my lips to keep me from screaming out in pain as the shooter walked in and began firing, not seaming to notice me behind the door. As he laughed while shooting down my classmates, I very shakily crept out from behind the door to being only a few inches from the shooters back. I lifted up the four pencils in my hand, hovering over the side of his neck as he continued to shoot his victims.

I didn't even think. I could only feel the fear and anger and the need to get rid of the source of this feeling of terror.

Not a blink later, the pencils were buried into the side of his neck as I screamed at the sight.

I turned away and released my lunch from my stomach onto the floor.

I looked down at my hand, now covered in blood and shrieked again.

The shooter gurgled before a thud sounded behind me.

I turned to my classmates only to see fear deep within their eyes... All looking at me.

I ran out of the room and into the hall where bodies lay on the floor of every classroom and blood splattered onto the walls.

I had just killed somebody, just like he killed all of the students.

I shrunk down next to a body, my legs giving into the fear and horror of myself.

Dizziness swam into my head as I passed out cold.

The next few months, after I woke up in the uncomfortable hospital bed, I had gone to therapy to make sure that the fear of myself had gone away. To be honest though, even I was still afraid of what I had done deep inside of my mind, and I am sure my family is thinking the same.

Speaking of families, both of my sisters are said to be eternally grateful of me for saving their lives. If I hadn't of done what I did, they would both be dead. Ellie gave me a great big hug, the first I have ever received from anyone, and Chloe gave me a high five.

School was canceled for the time being, but soon opened back up and students reassumed their daily scrambling and storytelling. A few select few students even came up and thanked me for my 'brave' actions, even though I was scared out of my mind. People began to sit near me during lunch, and even woke me up nicely if I ever fell asleep. I guess I would call these people my first, and best friends, and I finally realized why I was crying that day as I ate my lunch.

My black and white life, could easily be upgraded to the most colorful life. I just needed a kick to get me started.