Member-only story
Freak!
I’ve always been different; for as long as I can remember. I was always the quiet one; the one who didn’t fit in; who would rather lose myself in the pages of a book than go out and sit in the local bus stop until it got too dark.
Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I had just done that, but I couldn’t understand the appeal. Sitting there, watching someone scrawl yet another tag on the rotting wooden bench held no interest for me.
As I got older, I spent more and more time on my own, lost in the world of my stories; both ones I read, and ones I made up myself. I guess you could say that I was born a writer.
When I was in my late teens, my friends all wanted to go out drinking. I didn’t. I was the one who stayed at home, reading, and working on my own stories. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t have gone out, but the problem was that ‘going out’ was actually defined as ‘getting drunk’ when it came down to it, and that’s not something that I wanted to do. Yet again, I found that I didn’t fit in.
Most of the time, I don’t mind it. I’m a freak. I know I am, and I’ve actually learned to be okay with that, but sometimes something happens that reminds me that I just don’t fit in and probably never really will.
