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I’ve never felt much like I belonged anywhere. Sometimes there are just things about you that set you aside from everyone else. Tastes in music, clothing, styles even your smile clear down to your bodyweight and even opinions.
But most of the time they aren’t permanent, they can be changed, altered; to fit better inside other things like society, friends, networks. Most people get worked up over these things since most people are lazy and don’t want to change them, but subconsciously they do.
Then there are the things you can’t change. To be honest they are few and in-between, and their emergence strikes us down and deep. We humans, even if we fear change, we live for it.
Think of how many times you change your outfit before going on a date. How many time you change the radio station in your car. How often do you get your hair cut? Now think about if you couldn’t change those things.
Well the moral of this story is, don’t get mad that things change, because sometimes they don’t.
Let’s start out at the beginning. My name is Albina Richards; I’m originally from California in this little town that I’ve just so recently forgotten the name of. I live now in this little town in Pennsylvania that is almost overrun with cows. I don’t have a “blood” family; I’m in this government program for “Orphans with Unique Needs” and live with another woman. No this doesn’t mean I’m mentally retarded, I’ve burned down houses, or I do drugs. It means there are things about me no one really understands.
But enough of that. I want to start telling my story and now that you have a good quality background I think we can begin.
I had been in this new school for about a month before my secret was really out. Which brings me back to yet another fact, my own personal style. If you haven’t already heard, the government funds me and almost everything I do. Including my clothes options and the amount of money I get is hardly enough to let me go shopping every week so I tend to stray towards second hand stores. Cheap stuff is my life, hopefully you can connect.
So here I was, in my pair of faded and holey tight corduroy pants, a black belt that had been repeatedly fixed with a staple gun, a black tank top with a baggier white t-shirt over top. Oh yes I’m sex on legs. Bangles that had been previously owned by some old and extremely tacky woman bounced around on my wrists and were flecked with the clay I was working with in art class.
It was almost June and it was hot, seeing that the school building had a certain lack of air conditioning in many rooms. I ran the back of my hand over my forehead, brushing my thick bangs aside from both eyes for just a moment before my safety curtain fell down over them again.
Leaning over my project I studied it with utmost certainty, even though the usage and creativity of clay was lost on me. Sighing I reached over to grab at a smoothing tool when I glanced up through a veil of thick, brown and turquoise hair.
Oh yes, by the way, dying my hair is a hobby of mine. It changes monthly if I’m lucky. I’m never satisfied with one color for too long.
I make it a fact to try not to remember people seeing that I’m soon located to different places so often that it becomes useless and futile to remember them all. So when I saw this boy staring down at me I was at a loss for words. For when you know no one, you forget how to interact with someone.
“I was just gonna use that…if you weren’t,” he whispered. And I didn’t know why he whispered, it wasn’t like the room was dead silent, much to the contrary it was quite livid with voices.
“Oh, um sure. Go ahead,” I mumbled and withdrew my hands tenderly. Set me before teachers and groups of people and I can speak and put Hitler to shame. Leave me one on one; I melt to a puddle of goo.
“You sure? I can go find another,” he asked, and it was only then that I truly got a look at him. For such a small town it had a rather nice variation of people. This boy had hair, not quite red, not quite brown. A mix that turned into a rust of sorts, a burnt sienna if you look at it that way and it fell down into his eyes in a straight fashion. And those eyes were pale, so pale that if I had only glanced I might have mistaken them for silver or maybe even white and for a brief moment in time I felt the need to ask if he was like me.
I shot that thought down quickly and proceeded to stammer out a soft reply that he could keep it and that I was cleaning up. He nodded and then did something no one had done the entire time I’d arrived and Easton High school.
“My name’s Steph. You?” he asked, those pale eyes staring down at me like I was some tiny little bug.
He smiled and I’d never felt like that before. It’s like the sun was shining right down on me and no one else. My insides tightened up but it felt good.
“Cool name,” he commented then remembered the tool in his hand, “Well nice meeting you I guess.”
I felt stupid and childish when all I could mutter was “yeah” but he didn’t seem to mind.He just smiled again and sat back down at his table that was three away from my slightly deserted one. As he sat down I noticed the other boy, there were only two in the whole class, nudge him in the side. He smirked and glanced back up at me, making me stare back down at my clay project and the now flaking clay that clotted my fingers and smeared the table surface.
My pale face burnt with red, I was not used to this kind of attention. Usually I was just that little scene freak that sat in the back of class and read novels like Shakespeare and Anne Rice. This was an entire new playing-field.
I couldn’t hear what they said over the hum of chatter and for some time I didn’t want to. That was until the kid that Steph sat with burst out laughing and Steph tried to shove him off his stool. It was then my gut twisted in want to know what had been said. Surely, I conceded with myself, that I couldn’t have been about me. Surely.
The ten minute bell rang and I began cleaning up. You know when fate seems to try to keep you away from something even if you know it’s for the better you still don’t like it. Well that’s what happened. It seemed every student was suddenly going to use the sinks and even if I was the closest one to them I somehow was forced to the back of the line. Sighing I realized it didn’t really matter. I walked home anyway and Dorcus, my housemate wouldn’t mind if I was a bit late.
I waited patiently, the clay curling on my fingers and zapping all of the moisture from them. It wasn’t really uncomfortable more like just itchy. Suddenly the line lurched backwards and the girl in front of me let out a squeal and stepped right onto my foot.
I say foot inside of shoe because I was wearing paint stained flip-flops. Luckily I caught myself before I toppled over backward but still managed to lightly brush the person behind me.
I groaned inwardly praying that it wasn’t Steph. Catching myself I wondered why of all people that his name stuck in my head. Chastising myself I headed up to the sink to wash my hands of the cracking clay to find him staring at me from across it. His hands were dosed in the hot liquid and his eyes seemed to shimmer with sparks of blue. I gasped softly as I grasped the soap with my wet hands, so many thoughts ran through my head that weren’t mine.
This is what the government calls a “Unique”. This flurry of thoughts and feelings and of memories of people past. I grasp the handle of the sink to try to steady myself, I haven’t had an attack for so long, four months, and I was compelled to push it back now.
“Hey hurry up!” shouted someone from behind me as a scene of a Victorian age couple flashed through my mind. As my sight cleared I realized that not only was Steph staring at me from across the room now; but that a painted image of the same couple was painted on one of the ceiling tiles. Only now they were captured in midsentence instead of a full blown conversation about the weather and politics like I had seen them.
I tried to act normal as I dried my hands but there was nothing normal about what had happened. And now I guess its time to explain.
When the government says I’m a Unique they mean I’m cataloged as: Persons with Unidentified/Uncharted Abilities. There is only a handful allowed per state, as to keep the levels from becoming unbalanced.
I’m marked as an Aurelius Unique, which means two things. I was born within the dates March 17 and April 26, where the name is derived since they are the birth and death date of Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome. The other thing is that I have dichromatic eyes. For you slow pokes that means I have two different colored eyes.
Remember how I mentioned you can change things about yourself. Yeah well this is one you can’t.
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