Concealment

I knew something was wrong with me from the moment I met society. I would see things to the extreme, things others would be overwhelmed by. One particular example was in the second grade. My teacher asked the class to draw a picture of what we wanted to do when we grew up. I had never been good at art, but this was a subject that I always pondered about. So I started to sketch. When it was done, I scowled at the drawing, seeing that it wasn't EXACTLY what I pictured it as. When my teacher came over to check our work, she was speechless. I watched her look between me and the paper, her eyes made it clear she was unsure of what to think. She set it back down, mumbled to herself, and moved on to the next student. What had she been puzzled about? I wondered. Glancing down at the art, I again saw the small room, completely white with the exception of the window spanning across the front wall. Beyond it wasn't just a view of the outside world, or even a reflection. Instead, a mess of red and deep orange, each line precise with a hypnotic effect. There was no firefighter, no police officer. Just a view of a room with a strange window. Why did I have to be different? Was it all leading up to this moment? I glanced across the steel table, and saw the detective again, her arms folded. "Now," she began. "Would you like to confess to the murder of Tina Stiffler?" "Man In The Rain" by Tung Nguyen Thanh, used under CC BY / cropped and text added from original