Imperfect (Watty Awards 2012?)

Leaves whip past, twigs snap, and my mind is focused on one thing, the light. As I run, the light grows, morphs, and shapes into dozens of tiny lights. Fireflies fill my view and my feet, still soft from inexperiance, only move swifter. 

WIth a shuddering breath, I kneel down and gaze at the alien world before me. Glistening towers spring up from the ground and music hums in the air. One can almost feel the joy radiating from this sparkling beacon. The city dwellers flow past, their movements a fascination to me. They glide, skip, and run past without a care in the world, oblivious to their surroundings. 

A low creek and thud later is only background noise to them. Old beams falling form the ancient world is normal to them. Only I know that it is a signal to go home. A pang runs through me as a group of small children run past, probably to their home among the warm blankets, steamy food, and dazzling lights. With one last glance, I turn my dirty face away and head back my slowly forming pathway home. 

I make it to the river and take my last glimpse of the magical world. Why do I care though? I am not one of them, I don't belong. Looking down I find myself staring into those blue-green orbs that haunt me. A too-small nose runs between them like a stream. The stream is splattered with uneven spots that cascade over onto my sunburnt cheeks. 

I am imperfect, something that can never fit into that perfect, glistening world behind me.