The Weight of Being Different
October 26th, 1996.
9:15 AM
The withered grey grass crackled underneath her sneakers as she toured her favorite place in the world. A quiet place void of life, judgemental stares, and loud slanders. A place people called strange because the grass stayed dead, even after the rain.
Alya liked it that way.
Like strands of moonlight, her long white hair fell in waves past her waist, tugged gently by the wind. Her brows, just as pale, gave her face a sharp, unearthly look, intensified by piercing grey eyes, the kind that made people look twice…before passing judgement.
She strolled in silence, thoughts of her terrible life wrapped around her like chains.
Everyone stared at her like she was a glitch in their reality. The girl who didn't belong.
The girl with the white hair.
The girl with the strange grey eyes.
It might've been bearable if that were all. But odd things followed her; things no one could explain. Doors slammed without wind. Light bulbs flickered when she was upset. A student once swore her pen turned from green to white when she passed by. Just last week, someone claimed their bracelet floated when she looked at it.
The lies weren't always lies, and that made them worse.
Rumors grew teeth. Her classmates avoided her. Her teachers tiptoed around her. And at home... Well, home wasn't home. Not really.
She was a burden there. A mystery no one wanted to unravel.
And today…today had barely begun, but already it felt too heavy.
In the classroom, she'd allowed her thoughts to drift off, partly because the class was boring and partly because she'd been riddled with so many chores at home, she was simply exhausted.
Maybe if she'd paid more attention to the teacher, just a bit, the day would pass without incident.
But her mind wandered, as it always did, to the questions that never had answers.
Why did my mother leave me?
What am I?
"Alya Sheffield," the teacher's voice cut through her thoughts.
Her eyes snapped open, and her body jolted upright.
"I wasn't sleeping," she blurted, blinking the haze from her mind.
Miss Herston folded her arms. "Good. Then answer the question."
Alya's heart dove into her stomach. Her mind was a blank slate.
She had no idea what the question was.
The teacher's lips curved with satisfaction. "I thought as much. Detention.
"No! Please," Alya blurted out in panic.
She couldn't afford this. Her adoptive parents had warned her. No more trouble. No more calls from school, or else she'll be punished.
Something inside her snapped.
Suddenly, the air in the classroom changed. Every pen, pencil, and notebook lifted off the desks and hovered mid-air, turning slowly like planets out of orbit.
Gasps filled the room.
Soon after, the desk and chairs started rattling
The students screamed and scrambled to the back of the class. Even Miss Herston took several steps back, her eyes wide with fear.
Alya froze, her hands clenched as she stared at the whole thing unfold.
"No. No no no... not again," she muttered.
She turned and saw the renewed fear on everyone's faces. Their accusations had been confirmed.
She grabbed her bag and ran.
She didn't stop running.
Down the hallway, past the stunned faces, out the school gates, she ran. No one chased her. No one called after her. No one ever did.
Her feet pounded against pavement until the buildings gave way to the edge of town, where the road thinned and the grass shifted into short, silvery blades. Grey, just like her.
She dropped to her knees, then onto her side with her bag slumped beside her. She'd expected her usual peace, but none came this time. Just a flood of dread.
Her school would call home, and she would be punished with more chores, more cold glances, spats, and curses.
Unless she didn't go back.
The growl of an engine from afar made her look up from the road. She pushed herself up on one elbow, digging her fingers into the brittle grass as she narrowed her eyes toward the sound.
A sleek black powerbike rolled into view, its polished frame glimmering in the morning sun. The closer it got, the louder and obnoxious it became, making Alya wince and cover her ears. It slowed down, then stopped when it reached the edge of the grass right across where she sat.
The rider didn't dismount or speak. He just sat there in his black helmet, zipped leather jacket with gloved hands gripping the handles of the bike.
Alya's breath hitched as she thought of the worst. No life was within miles, just her and this stranger.
Who was he and why was he here?
Was the universe about to correct the anomaly which was her existence?
As if in response, the man reached up and pulled off the helmet.