Like a Snowhill

(With all due respect to H.M.)

You know, I’m a survivor.

They always told me: you’re a little different.

Albinism takes a lot of getting used to: Each time I surfaced, my vision became bleach—the sky was like blue fire. Eventually, I grew to love the clouds. They reminded me of me, just floating along.

My parents were kind, unlike many others. As a youth, solitude became my destiny.

You know, it wasn’t always like this. He only started to harass me when I wasn’t fully matured. I was cocky. So was he. I swear it was an accident, though. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was provoked. For fuck’s sake, I don’t even eat meat.

But my god, did he hound me after that limb thing. I knew it would end badly. Maybe if he hadn’t provoked me, no blood would have been shed; no lives would have been lost. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

I mean, how would you feel: the paranoia. Constantly looking over your shoulder. The threats. The barbs. In the end, I was just trying to protect myself. He shouldn’t have gotten involved.

Am I sorry? Yes. To a degree, anyway. So many others drank of the depths that day. I really meant no harm, but my back was against the wall.

I’m a survivor. And that’s why I lived to tell the tale.

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