Absence of Color

I am a freak.

That is how I feel every time I look into the mirror. Those around me see beauty. I see a freak.

Me.

I am a freak.

My skin is white. Not a pretty light pinkish color, like a white rose starting to blush. Nor a delicate porcelain, nice and lovely like a new china doll.

No.

My skin is as white as if the color had been pulled out of it. It is devoid of color. My black hair and black eyes make me look all the more ghastly. My lips are red like blood.

On a good day, you might be able to see the blue lines of my veins.

I look like something that has come back from the dead.

I am a horror.

I am a freak.

Yet, they call me a beauty, the fairest in all the land.

I don’t understand it at all.

 

January Writing Prompts

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