Life Over Safety

April 21, 6:30 am -

            My eyes were forced open by a toddler's miniature fingers.

            "Oi! Mar! What?!" I groaned, crawling deeper under the covers.

            "Alarm went off."

            "How long ago?"

            "Just now."

            I looked to the floor. A little, blue blanket was spread out on my carpet. She had stolen one of my pillows, too.

            "Marci, did you sleep in here?"

She smoothed out her nightgown and wiped her lidded eyes, "Yeah."

The sky outside was still dark. I hated waking up early. Especially on Mondays.

            My legs had finally woken up, so I stood, "Let's get ready for school before anyone else wakes up."

            "Kay."

            I quickly threw on a long sleeved shirt, hooded jacket, and jeans. To be honest, I hate wearing all these heavy outfits. I sweat all day. I stand out all day. But I don't complain. I can't.

I'm an albino, I don't have a choice.

            I helped Marci get dressed into one of her lace, white dresses and brushed the remaining clumps of lint and dust (from the vent) out of her long honey-brown locks.

            Once finished, we dashed out through the backdoor, escaping from the house just as Melissa had woken up.

            The air was cool and smelled of wet grass. It was seven o'clock, the sun was still hidden behind trees and hills far away. Luckily for me, that meant that I wouldn't have to wear my sunglasses for another thirty minutes or so.

            Marci dragged her feet against the cold sidewalk as we followed the path to school. Walking two miles each morning was a good workout, I guess. Even so, we were always exhausted by the end of the day. Usually our morning walks dragged on uninterrupted, but if we were unlucky, Greg Foxmen and his three man posse would stop us on our path to either throw rocks, push me around, or attempt to rip my clothes off to see what would happen if I was exposed to the sun, if it was out. After Marci warded them off a couple of weeks ago, they stopped acknowledging her and went straight for me, as usual. 

            "Atlas," Marci spoke.

            "Yeah?"

            "What's it called?" 

I sighed, "Marci, I've told you at least ten times over."

            "Can't remember."

            "Albinism."

            "Eyes?" I don't think she had ever asked about them before, so I answered kindly, 

            "I have photophobia, nystagmus, and some color blindness."

            "First one?"

            "Photophobia? It means I cant look at bright lights, it'll hurt my eyes."

            "Second?"

            "Nystagmus is what makes my eyes twitch," I stopped and bent down to look at her, she looked at my eyes and watched them make tiny, fast movements in different directions. We both laughed.

            "Why are they red?"

            "Well, when I was born, my eyes didn't have any color, like yours. So you can see the blood vessels inside. That's what turns them into a reddish color."

She nodded and did her best to remember. 

            When we came close to my school, I let Marci walk with her tiny friends to the preschool next to Dorian Middle, my school/hell.