The difference

Dear whoever cares,

There once was a girl. Her name was Chris. That wasn’t her first name of course, it was the name she chose, the name name that was really hers. This girl was different than the others in her village. She was used to being different though. She was different than all the girls in her old village. The girls and boys in her old village would laugh and exclude her from the games the rest of them played. But that was in her old village. In her new village a lot of the plople were just as mean, except for one. A girl named Courtney. Courtney didnt laugh and exclude her like the others did. Courtney was her friend. The young girl Chris grew up in this new village and some people even befriended her as she grew up, but still most of the village whispered and stared. And many of her schoolmates pointed and laughed. When the young girl Chris was 12 she was told things she was too young to know, and she found out what was so different about her. She kept her difference to herself, knowing what would happen if she didn’t. When she told her parents her difference they ignored it and acted as if she wasn't what she said she was. No one called her by her name, "Sophia!" they would shout, "Sophia why do you act the way you do?" And one day, one of her schoolmates found out her difference and he shouted it to the village. From then on people she didn’t even know snickered and laughed and pointed at her. They called her names and took her belongings, teasing her by holding them just out of reach. One day when the girl was 13 she decided, "Things can't get any worse then they already are," and she cut her hair to where it barely reached her eyebrows. When she saw her schoolmates again, she said, “My name is Chris, not Sophia, I may be different than you but that does not matter. " And when they still laughed and pointed and teased and stole, she would stick her chin out just like her aunt had taught her and ignored them. Soon, she built a wall around her heart and used her quick tongue and sharp wit against the ones who mocked her.

She said that none of it affected her but it did. And to forget it all she would draw. They werent drawings with paper and pen, instead they were with blades and skin. She didn’t know anyone else who drew and she was ashamed, covering her arms and keeping her sharp wit. The girl didn’t think she’d make it but she did, she still draws and still has her sharp wit. Now whenever someone meets her, she tells them, "My name is Chris, not Sophia, I may be different than you but that does not matter."

Forever broken and yours,

C.S.