[youeatbugs]

Art by me.
Snow.



Chapter I

I awoke to a persistent beeping. The golden morning light was shining through the blinds over my window, nearly blinding me.
Confused, I sat up, rubbing the sleep away from my eyes and shifted my glance to my wobbly wooden end table at the side of my bed. The alarm clock reading "6:30", I groggily reached over and pressed the snooze button and slipped on my glasses. I became fully awake as I heard the shrill cry of my baby sister in the other room.
I was still confused.
My mom was the one who often woke me up in the mornings, especially on Thursdays. I didn't know where she was today.
Standing up and staggering to the doorless doorframe, I went to the white, narrow kitchen where a giant fuscia note was taped to the back of my seat at the dining room table. I smiled at the color, my mom knowing how poor my eyesight was even while wearing glasses.
I skimmed over her half-capital, half-handwriting scrawl quickly:

"JOSEPH,
I WENT TO GET SOME COFFEE THIS MORNING BEFORE I HEADED OFF TO WORK. YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE BUS TODAY. I'M SORRY.
I SET YOUR ALARM CLOCK, SO IF JENNA STARTS TO CRY JUST TURN ON THE RADIO AND AT 6:45 THE BABYSITTER SHOULD PULL IN.
LOVE YOU, HUN. SEE YOU AT 8."

The words were pretty blurry, and I could still smell the strong scent of permanent marker, but I could read it just fine. I walked to my mom's room where Jenna's dark wooden crib sat. I turned on the radio on the shelf above her head and after a short pause and a bit of static, a quiet song began to drift about the room. I gently touched Jenna's tear-streaked cheek and sauntered back to my room as her cries began to soften. I threw on a pair of ripped, grass-stained jeans and a simple black long-sleeved shirt and went back to the kitchen to make myself some cereal and get my things together.
It wasn't long before Michelle, our babysitter, arrived. Five minutes late, but in time for me to catch the bus...
I knew by that giant yellow vehicle, that today was not going to be a very good day.


Chapter II

I never knew why in cartoons the back of the bus was always the worst. I mean, perhaps in other places it's taken that way but not where I live. Everyone strives to make it to the back and avoid the front as much as possible. Of course, that was before the bus stopped at my house first... And I chose to sit there. It's like there's some sort of force field around me, pushing everyone at least three or four seats in front of me to carry on with there antics. I made the back of the bus the worst place to be.
I don't mind being alone here, though. I can view the lake without looking around another person's head, so I'm okay. It gives me space to think about nature rather than my own self-pity for once. I like the escape.
The school began to close into view, surrounded by many yellow and green trees, I could smell the rotten leaves already, and I hadn't even stepped foot outside the bus. I had to wait as all the other kids passed by before I could even stand, knowing I would just be brutally pushed back down into my seat. The bus was nearly empty a few minutes later and the driver motioned to me to get off, so I did, walking slowly behind the remaining students like a ghost... I could easily be mistaken for one, either way.
Stepping on the damp concrete, I made my way into the red-brick school, trying to hide my existence as I opened the doors and walked as silently as possible through the halls. I even tried to masquerade my shaky breath, looking for my locker where all of my things were safe... Unlike myself. I sauntered over to the area to where it was and noticed a large group of people walk by. Pretty girls and strong boys-- I knew what was coming even before one of them pushed the side of my face into my locker and knocking my back pack out of my hands, the others laughing at my misfortune.
As they left me be, muttering rude slurs under their breath, I muttered my own:
"I'm sorry I'm not perfect..."


Chapter III

I know I shouldn't complain about my life, because I know for a fact that it's not very bad. I have a home and a caring family and I'm as healthy as I could possibly get... But I can't help but feel bad for myself. No one else will. I'm thankful for everything I have, but, honestly... I couldn't care less about materialistic things or how I look to the world. When I leave this world all of my possessions will drift away with my life, so there's really no point in caring, right?
Wrong.
Wrong to everyone else but me, really. Everyone seems content and greedy as ever. I don't know why the world is so twisted-- to me, I seem like the most normal person in the world... But to everyone else I must seem like the least.
I can see them staring at me and laughing at me, even when I'm not around I know there's going to be some sort of nasty rumour started about me. I can't say I couldn't care less, but life would be a lot easier if everyone else had a voice of reason, rather than going with whatever the new fad is.
The new fad is seemingly who can ruin another person's day the most. If I had enough confidence, I would try hard to make someone's day rather than ruin it. That would make me feel good about myself. Either way, I know it would backfire no matter how hard I tried.
I often don't know what's going on. Even as I sit in class. The only time I really pay attention is when I'm taking care of Jenna or in English class, the class before lunch.
My words spill out of my head like a waterfall made out of graphite. As I write, I think up what else to write next. I never truly write about myself and I have a feeling that my teacher doesn't even completely understand my words. She doesn't know how I feel. She can't even imagine. I can't really blame her, I know that no one would really want to feel the way I do. I can't quite say I'm depressed, but I'm certainly not happy.
Today, though, I don't quite know what to write in our free writing period. My hand trembles as I clutch my pencil, but the words that I'm thinking are much too hard to express with speech alone. I wish I could just take out my soul and spread it across the blank paper in front of me. Maybe then everyone would understand how I feel.
I ended up only drawing a weird half-stickman half-tree picture and a few random sentences, trying to spark inspiration:
"The cow says moo..."
"Green. Green is the color of... New. The color of... Jealousy..."
"Who am I? Joseph Jones. Who is that?"
The last question I couldn't even quite answer myself. I don't really know whether I was being serious or not, but I do know that the attempts for inspiration failed a numerous amount of times. I just felt like running away. Deep into the forest, where the world was as it should be. Green and fresh, where I could take all the scents in as a welcoming embrace. Perhaps deep down into the ocean where the water would always be there for me. Never leaving my side and never letting loneliness consume me.
Anywhere was fine but here. I don't belong here.
The lunch bell suddenly rang-- catching me off guard. I jumped and accidently drew a dark pencil mark across my page, my teacher, Mrs. Young, asking us to keep our pieces of writing unless they were finished. I just decided to crumple my paper into a ball and throw it into the recycling as I walked out the door, to lunch. Where my doom would begin.


Chapter IV

There's no place for me to go. To hide. I don't belong anywhere.I need a safe place to be. How can you escape words when not even your own heart can protect you from them? I have no place to go.
Outside I'm surrounded by people, pointing and laughing at me. I'm in a circle of arrogance and heartlessness. I have no place to run and no way to call for help.
"Is he crying?!" I hear a girl shriek in laughter.
"He is!" A boy answers. "What a wuss!"
The crowd laughs. Isn't there anything else for them to do? More importantly, isn't there anyone here to lend a helping hand?
No one has a conscience here. I don't like it.
"Say something!" the little group of boys in front of me hiss.
"Say something you retard!"
They pelted rocks at my face. I could feel the sharp edges slice at my cheeks, stinging as my salty tears found home within the surface wounds. I couldn't do much but hang my head in shame, allowing the violence to continue willingly.
Why won't I fight back? Why won't I at least say something? I'm sure people wonder that, deep within the backs of their minds. Aggravating themselves with my lack of response.
I don't believe in violence. If I fight back, what makes me so much better than them? I'd rather just stand here and take it. One day, they will get bored of me. They'll stop.
Sometimes I lose faith in that thought, but it's one hope I'll never give up on. I wouldn't even want to imagine the more abuse I would receive if I were to fight these people. I don't want to think I would get some sort of twisted respect. I'd rather not take my chances. I don't want to be accepted by people like this.
"Hey, retard!" one of the boys yelled. His name was Gordon-- he wasn't liked but he was obviously striving for attention by joining in the 'fun'.
"What? Are you deaf now!? Huh retard!?"
I didn't want to make eye contact with him. I shuffled by feet on the concrete, staring at the pebbles that were previously thrown at me. These people make me feel like a monster.
The loud call of the bell rung through everyone's ears, and I hesitantly looked up as they began to walk away with a smile or scowl on their faces. I followed along after a few minutes, getting a good six metres between me and them. I wiped off the blood from my cheeks and the tears from my eyes and huffed a sigh as I walked into the caressing warmth of the school, my face numb from the frozen air outside.
Somehow I'm starting to believe I truly am a monster. But it's also becoming very clear to me that these people are no better...


Chapter V
The rest of the day was just a blur of scribbles and sadness. Somehow I don't think sadness is quite a strong enough word, but misery sounds much too harsh. Somewhere in between there. As I mentioned before, I don't have it as bad off as a lot of people do... But I've now come to realize that I can't walk in their shoes nor can they walk in mine. Metaphorically, my shoes need repair.
I remember the final bell ringing as I handed in my work. It shocked me because I really hadn't paid much attention to anything-- it was like I was some sort of robot for a few hours. Not thinking, but doing. I really wish I could be like that all of the time, because then I definitely wouldn't feel as hollow as I do now, stepping back on to that hideous yellow... thing.
I walked through the rows of burgundy seats until I settled back down at the back, staring at my abnormally white hands. I didn't want to look up from them in fear that I would only see people staring at me or other's happiness, making me feel belittled and uncomfortable in my own skin. Soon I would be reassured that life isn't as tough as school torments me to think.

* * * * *

I kept watching the clock, waiting for my mom to come home. I kept getting distracted by Jenna, continuously crying, making me want to break down and cry with her. I think when I finally got her to go to sleep, I drifted off myself. All that I remember is lifting my head from Jenna's crib, rubbing my eyes from beneath my glasses and walking into the kitchen only to find my mom there, reading yesterday's newspaper.
"Mom?" I asked, making sure I was truly awake and not dreaming.
She looked up at me with her always soft and caring brown eyes.
"Yes, hun?" she stood up, folding her newspaper and setting it on the counter beside her.
I stared at her for a moment, not sure how to answer. I don't know why, but just then I could feel the emotions in the pit of my stomach stir, making me feel as though I should combust.
I felt my knees buckle as I walked toward her, falling into her arms and quietly sobbing. I wasn't sure why, but all's I know is I finally felt safe to cry.
"Shhh." my mom soothed, stroking the back of my head.
It hurt me more to see my snow-white hand over her caramel-coloured arm. I don't like who I am, and just seeing that was a shocking reminder of it, and I didn't like it.
Being an albino is hell.

Chapter VI

Have you ever felt as though your life is some sort of circle? No matter what you do differently, or how much you change, every day begins to blend into another and suddenly... You lose track of your happiness.
It's not fair, and it's cruel. There's not much you can do... You can only depend on your future, which then you have the arguing thought that screams at you: "Your future will probably break beneath your feet just like the present and the past!"
You can't rely on 'what ifs' and 'probablies'. It'll only let you down when the future actually comes. All optimism washed completely away by the tears you shed throughout the years it takes to get to the point where you thought you would be happy.
I can't remember exactly the last time I truly laughed. I don't remember when I last had a true friend that didn't pick on me behind the scenes. What do I do? When there's no one else in this situation, what can I do? No one else is a powdery-white freak here. I wish I could just... Bathe myself in dye. Maybe then people would respect me. If I were darker... If I looked different.
My day was the same as always, but my mom drove me to school. No big-yellow nightmare today until after my classes. I finally wrote something in English. A small poem, but I really like it.
'I know many others
have it worse off than I,
but I can't walk in their shoes,
only mine.
They may not be filthy,
they may not have holes,
or be damaged in any way
but my feet ache...
I hurt.
My shoes need repair.'
To me, the meaning of it is apparent, but when I was practically forced to read it in front of the class by Mrs. Young... The meaning clearly was not as simple as I thought. Everyone looked at each other, some not even being able to hear my quiet words. Before they could ask questions, the lunch bell rang. Avoiding the cruel brawl that happened yesterday, I decided to sit up on the hill in the back of the schoolyard. I was on one of the concrete picnic tables, staring down at all who thought were above me, wondering why on earth the world would create such heartless people. The answer never came.
The rest of the day flew by after I hazily struggled through math equations and socials notes until finally the bell rang. I gathered everything off my desk and to avoid being pushed in the hall and waited silently by the classroom door for everyone to leave. I made my way down the row of forest-green lockers, staring out the delicately embroidered windows at the soft blue sky. Before I knew it, I was stopped by three girls, all laughing with malice.
"Hey, Father Frost, what's goin' on?" one cackled.
I stared at my shoes, holding my dear poems and stories in my arms.
"Hey, maybe Gordo was right, hey Ash? Maybe he is deaf!" another shrieked in laughter.
The other just stood there, grinning a wicked grin.
"Whatcha holdin' onto Frosty?" she finally asked rudely.
"Ooo, maybe a little emo poem. Like the one he wrote in class! Silly Frosty, albinos aren't emo kids."
I scowled at their ignorance, and clearly 'Ash' saw my expression and tore the papers from my hands.
"Don't you make that ugly face at us you ******!" She hissed, crumpling up one of the papers in her hand and throwing it at my face, handing the rest to her friends.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was that your pretty poem? Heh, like we care. Maybe it wasn't? Let's shred the rest just to make sure, girls."
Shocked, I lifted my head, hand twitching to reach out and stop them, but they had already torn all the papers apart and scattered them around before I could even lift my arm. They left, cackling like ugly witches.
The light cast down in golden streaks from the window at my side. I hung my head, holding back tears as I saw the dismembered pages of my stories and poems sprawled upon the floor.
It's true. Everything I say is true. You don't even want to know how frighteningly strange the feeling is... But all's I can say to you is: yes, happiness may come and go... But it always leaves faster than when it arrives.

Chapter VII

I really like waking up to Saturday's rain. I'm not really sure why, but there's something wondrous about it. Just to turn and look out my window at the cloud's golden tears glistening in the sun seems just... Magical.
Despite the hollow feeling still twisting uneasily in my stomach, despite my eyes being uncomfortably sticky from me crying myself to sleep the night before and even despite my sight blurring the simple beauty that stared back at me through my curtainless window... The rain still soothed me. Cried for me.
I turned over to look at the clock: '8:06'. Just then I realized that I might just be able to catch my mom before she left to her second job to say a quick goodbye. Quickly, I shot up from my bed, put on my glasses and rushed into the kitchen, only to find the newspaper folded unevenly by her chair at the dining room table and a half empty coffee cup beside it... She'd already gone.
My eyes wandered to stare out of the window above the kitchen sink at the rain. It didn't feel as though it was crying for me now, but taunting me. 'Cry, go ahead cry. She left you. No note, nothing. No goodbyes.'
I sighed and shook my head. I was still sensitive from the other day and it didn't feel good, because I felt like crying all over again.
Looking up, I could see my mom's room staring at me. Jittering in my eyes, but I knew that Jenna was there and there was the only me to take care of her today. It's not like I really minded. In fact, it gave me a sense of bliss knowing that a tiny person that I loved needed my help, and I was more than willing to give it.
I hadn't heard her cry yet, so rather than checking on her at that very second, I decided to take a quick shower and eat a simple slice of toast. Still no cries to be heard.
Concerned, I wiped off my hands on my jeans and sauntered into my mom's room, wondering what was wrong. Walking toward her crib, quietly, I took the chair that was against the wall in the corner to sit beside her.
She was holding up her tiny pink sheets to her mouth, staring out the window behind me. Her eyes were more focused on it than a baby's eyes should be, and that surprised me.
"What are you looking at?" I whispered to her in a small voice.
She still stared out the window, ignoring my words, so I turned to see what she saw.
The rain gleamed off the sun that peered through gray clouds. I wasn't sure if that was what she saw, but there was nothing else to see other than that from her perspective.
"Are you looking at the rain, Jenna?" I asked stupidly, knowing she wouldn't give me any response.
For some reason, I think in a way she kind of did-- or she just knew her name. She shifted her little glance toward me, then back at the window. It sounded like she huffed a tiny sigh, but I wasn't quite sure.
A smile caressed my lips as touched her cheek, only to find tears streaming down mine. I desperately tried to wipe them away, but they kept pouring from my eyes uncontrollably. Helplessly, I let out a pathetic sob, trying dearly not to make Jenna cry herself. I looked at her through my twice-as-blurry eyes. She was staring back at me intently. I could see her feeble, dimpled hand reach out toward me as I hung my head sadly over her crib. She touched my face and gently clutched onto my nose, giggling.
At first I thought she was taunting me, but somehow her giggles lifted my heavy heart. Like she was trying to cheer me up instead-- and it worked. I smiled, carefully holding onto her hand with my own and wiping the remaining tears away with my other. Quietly, I chuckled with her and kissed her cheek.
"Thank you, Jenna." I said, sniffling. "I swear you're the only person who understands me..."

Chapter VIII

It's sad to know, really. But also quite amazing. A baby of all things... A small infantile baby understands me better than anyone in the world. At least I think she does. How can you ever be sure of what goes through a baby's head?
Somehow, though, I think that they're much more observant than adults. Children see things that adults are blind to-- because our imaginations are still at full capacity... And die as we grow older.
I don't want my imagination to die... It's the only thing that keeps me sane, really. If I didn't have the little creatures roming around in my head, I wouldn't know what else I could possibly be occupied by.
One day, I hope... My imagination will allow me to wrtie a novel all about what I've on through. So maybe one day there will be someone else out there just like me that will read it and not feel as alone as I do now. Yeah... That would be amazing.

_________________________________

For those that don't know what albinism is x3 :

*Albino
-Formerly known as albinism. A genetic mutation in which the skin, hair and eyes are lacking in or have no pigmentation. (Pigmentation= color.)
The skin is often pure-white but varies from ethnicities and the hair is either pale yellow or white as well (once again depending on ethnicities)...
As a rumor, most people believe that all of those who have albinism have red eyes. No, they either have pink eyes, pale blue or a type of purple-ish color.

... I very obviously like albinism. :'D

[bowaday_seelah]

I like it so far. Please continue. ^-^

[youeatbugs]

^-^ THANKYOU.

I have two more chapters already written, so more should be posted soon. :]]

[youeatbugs]

/Bumptastic
D:

[fire_element]

Before I read this (which may take a while because I'm sick), I want to say: I love the cover.

[xx_sam_love_xx]

Can you read mine too because i need soeone who is the ebst rper and knows how to write to help me make my skills better i live to write stories

[fire_element]

....Compliments will get you every where my friend. So yes, I'll look into it.

[youeatbugs]

fire_element wrote: Before I read this (which may take a while because I'm sick), I want to say: I love the cover.

:]] Haha, thank you. It took forever to draw. ^^
It's okay. Take your time. X3

[youeatbugs]

/Bump

Any readers? ):

[bowaday_seelah]

Chapter III is posted twice. You might want to fix that.
Anyhow, please post more soon. ^-^