Blood can shine brighter

Chapter I

I'm flying. My world has utterly turned on it's axis; emerging me in the blue of it's sky. Clouds surround me, made of deep grays and fluffy whites, there beauty appearing as they shimmered in the late mourning sun. Suddenly however, the green trees beneath me race towards my eyes as I fall. My face burns as a the wind rushes past it with a smacking sound and I hit the earth's surface.

I'm talking metaphorically, of course.

Really I was smacked in the face by my father, Steve. But my mother always told me to look to the positive side of things. Flying will do for now.

Steve quickly adjusts his black ebony suit and violet bow tie, his eyes turning from those of a angry mad man to expressionless sockets. I know he doesn't feel anything towards me and he certainly shows it. A small patch of brown, which he likes to call hair, adorns his head and a equal shade of the brownness colour cups his eyes in the shape of glasses. His height is short compared to mine, An average person would laugh at the very thought of him harming them. I am not an average person though. To me this small round petite man is terrifying.

Another hand hits me in the temples and my scream echoes out into the small room. He has no remorse as he hits punches and punches down upon me and as black spots cloud my vision I can almost hear him laughing. 

Pain tears through me as each hit lands, purple and black spots appearing instantly, looking like bruised smudges on my milky white skin. Right now I really wish I wasn't born albino, then I actually might of had a Chance at defending myself.

Suddenly after what seems like hours, the pain and punches stop. My vision clears up and with only a few ear splitting cracks I'm able to pull myself back up on to the velvet red carpet. Steve stares up at me, his frown drowning in hatred and despise.

He clears his voice before he speaks "Your lucky I went easy on you". His voice is monotone, like a robots. "Next time, I expect you to not ask such disgraceful things. Give your old man a little bit of respect, hmm?".

Those were the last words I heard from him as he swiftly left my room and wobbled down our houses old ebony stairs. More than likely to the taxi that had just pulled up outside. I waited there for a moment or two staring out my window, waiting for the Taxi driver to drive out of my range.

When the taxi finally did turn round the bend, I felt a great weight lift off my shoulders. I was free of him. Well, at least until he would come home from his meeting, probably angry and drunk from a bad business deal or two.

A sad smile comes across my face and I walk to my mirror and sit down, knees to my chest. There are no sources of black talking boxes or large screens when I'm locked in my room, my reflection being the only source of comfort and companionship for days at a time. I take away the piece of purple cloth covering my mirror, scrunch it up and throw it on the other side of my empty room. 

My reflection stares at me as I sweep my fingers gently on the surface of the glass and smile. At least my reflection will always be there for me. 

"how lonely I must be..." I whisper gently to myself " finding comfort in my own reflection when I hate it so much..." . It was a bittersweet statement of fact. My condition, or what father likes to call my "deformity" is the reason why he hates me so much.

I stare at the mirror for a moment and take in my many injuries covering my white skin. When I mean white though, I mean it  matches the color of milk and hasn't a hint of pigmentation. It looks sore and battered heavily after Steve had beaten me, even more so than a normal persons. My skin is more sensitive, it bruises easily. My hair, the same shade of white as my skin is straight and long, reaching and eventually tangling down to the middle of my waist. A shade of pink adorns it's curls as it reeks of dried blood and sweat.