Different

This story was inspired by August Pullman, the incredible kid from R. J. Palacio's remarkable novel, Wonder.

*****

People usually glance at me.

And it inevitably leads to various reactions—probably not too various, since it's never been good anyway.

I can see if they're scared.
Disgusted.
Startled.
Speechless.
Flustered.
They can't help but getting freak out and that's pretty obvious to see.
Even at some point I could get unlucky—wait, unluckier—that they'd add it with a scream. Or mean questions. No, actually not that mean, I know it just sort of comes out of their mouth naturally. Like it's the first thing you'd say when you see something horrible.

I am horrible.

I have been living through that for years, long enough to finally get used to it.

It's easy to notice my presence everytime I don't cover my face properly. People tend to pay attention to something beyond normal, you know, something unusual. Different. And this scarce deformity thing is an absolute controversy. They don't explicitly show it, but I know they try so hard not to take a second look at me, because the second time you look at me it'd be difficult for you to control your face expression. They try not to get any closer to me, like I'm sort of a plague. Like it's spreading. The gap they create is barely seen but it's real. I know. I always know.

I have been suffering hard enough to finally accept the fact that society is a big deal.

But I never cried it out. I never took my feelings quite seriously. It'd sting and then disappear in no time. Life is tough, so in order to survive I need to be tougher.

Until one day, I stare at myself for the longest time I know since I started to avoid mirrors and that's when I shattered.

For once, it hurts. It really does.