It was yet another simple day. Or so it seemed to the children running home from school with their friends. I sat on the steps of the school, watching the students go by, themselves laughing at the little jokes they spoke of.
Yet, on my own little face, no smile had ever graced it. Nor was I ever approached by any. Nobody ever asked if I wanted to be their friend. The wind messed up my already poorly trimmed hair, making me feel like a ragged child indeed.
The silence around me was deafening. Yet the other children could not hear it. In their eyes, I was but a part of the steps, part of the broken step I sat beside. The adults passed me by, bringing their precious jewels home, shaking their head at me. I knew what they were thinking. I knew it. The adults with stern eyes and firm hands saw me as an arrogant child, unwilling to speak to my schoolmates. Yet, there was also the other group of adults, who had a soft look in their eyes, whom children could tiptoe up to pour secrets into their eager ears. They showered me with sympathy. I did not want that. I hated their sympathy. I shunned it away.
As much as I shunned cars. I loathed them. They were what made me who I am today