When I was born, my mother said I was the prettiest baby anyone had ever seen. I had pudgy cheeks, dimples, and the bluest eyes. The only thing that marked my perfect white skin was a birth mark.
Then, only one person knew what it meant. Being in the shape of an arrow across my back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, a doctor with weird theories told my mother I was going to die. So, that's why they locked my in my room from day one. That's the story my mom told me every time I asked, even when I got older and expected at least a small change in the story to see if she had just been trying to make me happy. But no, it was always the same story. Being 16 now, I feel like I'm slowly wilting away. I've never left my room, never met anyone except my family. I only know what the outside looks like from sneaking looks out a crack in my boarded up window. I had no friends, and I will be alone...forever and always.
