At birth, I was named Scarlett Sandersole. I was the sparkle in my parents eyes. I made them so happy because I was their first child. It didn't matter to them that I was so much different than all the other kids.They loved me for me, not for who they wished or wanted me to be. I could only dream of loving myself in the same way.
Why am I so different, you ask? Well, for starters, my hair, including my eyebrows and eyelashes, tend to change colour depending on my mood. So not cool. I'm always classified as the emo who dyes her hair a different colour everyday. Next, my right eye is a grey-green while my left is a grey-blue. My skin is very pale, my cheeks always tinted cherry red and my puckered lips, naturally, a crimson colour. I am about 5"7 and have the perfect model hourglass figure. My hair reaches my hips and I have this amazing gift of not needing to ever shave or wax any hair from my body because it never grows. Don't worry, I am still a girl. Trust me. I get my period seven days a week each month.
Now back to my story, when I was eight, I lost the ability to speak verbally. No, I did not go deaf. My hearing is perfect. My parents dragged me to every doctor, neurologist, psychologist and therapist in Canada. None of them had ever seen anything like me. It was like I was an alien in a new world. Scientists wanted to get a hold on me and take blood samples, but my parents forbid them to do so. Since, no one could figure out what was wrong with me, it was decided that we'd all just learn sign language so it would be easier to communicate to one another.
Ever since then, John has been my personal interpreter. He, basically, follows me everywhere and translates my sign language into words to the world. He knows everything. He sees everything. He does anything and that's why I love him. John is about 15 years older than me so don't start to get any ideas. He's so not my type. He's more like the older brother I never had. He protects me and comforts me in times of need. Which is usually all the time.
For as long as I can remember, I've been bullied. Everywhere I go, I get harassed about either the way I look or act. Its not fair. I never chose this life. I never told people to hate me. I never told them to disrespect me and my feelings. I never wanted to be the victim. I never wanted to be me. I was chosen.
YOU ARE READING
It's Me.
Teen FictionIt had just began to rain as I walked into the dark alley. My thoughts wandered, heart pounding rapidly, beads of sweat and drops of rain ran down my face, my hands were quivering and my vision blurred. He was behind me and I was terrified. A cru...
