Short Stories

Skin of Mine

Tracy's POV

My complexion isn't as light as the rest of my family. I'm the dark one. The outcast. Kinda like a mut. But you see, I feel that my skin is beautiful. I'm not dark like Michelle Obama, and I'm not as light as Emma Watson. I'm in the middle. All my life really I've been called out and bothered by my family for this skin of mine. I'm now at the age where I can think for myself, defend myself, and say what I think and feel. But what point is there when I'm just silenced. When I can't even say "No I didn't do it" "No that's wrong" "That hurts/bothers me." I'm so tired of hearing "You're ugly because you have dark skin" "No one likes you because you're dark" "I'm awesome because I'm white and you're just trash."

I don't get this from my Mother. I get this skin of mine from my Father. And because of him I live tormented for as long as I can remember. Being put down, bossed around like a slave, and not having a voice. Hearing comments like "You're just like your dad." Yet my Father is a drunk, drug addict, and has served in prison many times before. How can I be like him when I'm top of my class, I behave, I listen, and I don't even go out. But I told myself one day they'd regret it. And that day is today.

I stand at the top of the bridge looking down to the vicious water below. I slowly move my legs over the railing and stand. I think of all those comments. All the jokes. I'm done. I can't move forward anymore. I tried. I really did, but I can't anymore. I take a breathe and move forward. It's done. There's no turning back. I feel myself falling until finally I hit the water and it all goes black.