Beneath My Exterior

Getting Through The Crowd ~Andrew

One thing that sets us Nazarees apart from humans is that we never intentionally hurt, or harass one another. We respect one another, carrying the knowledge that we’re all on the same boat in our lives. We did something wrong and we’re paying for it in our own different ways. We don’t pick up and play with yellows or purposely trip indigos. We don’t tempt reds with blood or cause a green to feel true emotion. Usually, we’re the men, women and children you see huddled up in corners or walking down side streets with our hands in our pockets. We rarely put down roots until our curses become permanent. We don’t follow human gossip the same way everyone else in this world does.

Unfortunately for me though, it’s the Nazaree gossip that everyone’s up to date with. And my punishment for sticking around humans for four years is that I, up until hours ago have completely missed our hottest topic:

Me.

 

Andrew James Lawson.

The guy who’s apparently put girls in a mental hospital.

The guy who sends them jumping off cliffs and crying themselves to sleep at night.

The tiny guy.

“How the hell do they recognise me?” I hiss across at Cole, who stands still as a statue beside me, his eyes glued to the scene outside Andrew Jr.’s control room. Pretty much everyone in the café went silent as soon as I’d entered, and had proceeded to swarm around poor Andrew Jr. like hungry bees. Oh yeah. Did I mention that while we don’t harass each other, Nazarees love observing. Anything interesting that happens during their dull, dreary lives is guaranteed to spark a sudden surge of curiosity.  And when that curiosity is directed at me, I almost miss the screaming, the running and the fear I’ve grown so used to in the last four years.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been surrounded by crowds of people before, at pretty much every school I’ve attended during my travels in Andrew Jr. When I graduated from middle school to become a senior two years ago, there were heaps of them, friends and peers. But the daunting truth now, is that these people know my secret. They know that beneath my exterior is a regular four inch tall yellow who, like them, would do anything to be human again.

And that scares me.

“Andrew, your face is all over our newspapers and magazines.” Cole replies, biting his lip nervously. The statement distracts me for a few seconds. That I’m grateful for.

“Nazarees read the newspaper!?” I exclaim, making sure I don’t project the words through Andrew Jr.’s larger mouth.

Cole shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “It’s a big place, underground.” He mumbles.

I bite my lip, turning my attention back towards the whispering crowd of Nazarees outside my exterior. They stand respectfully about a metre away, and I notice a few yellows peering at me from a few odd shoulders, giddy, crazed expressions plastered on their faces. Funny, how they look so small compared to everyone else…

That gives me an idea.

“Uhhh, Cole?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip again nervously. The mere thought of what I’m about to do sends shivers up my spine.