Writing Prompt 4/9

writing prompt

I was the new kid in school. My parents moved around a lot, and it always freaked me out when I had to go to class the next day.

“No one will even notice sweetie,” my mom would ALWAYS say. “Just wear your contact.”

That was the only thing that made me feel normal, my one brown contact. It made my eyes the same color, because they weren’t. When people noticed, I felt like a freak. They would stare… always stare. Kids would point at me, asking their parents what was wrong. I would get some compliments, sure, but complete Heterchromia is somewhat rare. Guys would flirt with me, saying how “unique” I look.

But I don’t want to be “unique”. I just want to be normal. The FIRST thing everyone sees is my eyes. People know me for just that, not my name. Hell, most people probably don’t know that my full name is Emberle Emilia Evancough. EEE… that’s pretty unique. Why can’t people know me for something like THAT?

That isn’t my parent’s last name. They adopted me and let me keep my old last name. They liked the EEE thing, I guess.

Anyway, I bought the brown contact for that reason. I started to wear it, and people stopped staring, pointing, and bothering me about it. My bright blue eye is now covered. It itches like crazy when my allergies come in during Spring, but I don’t care.

Of course I start this new school when my eye is particularly itchy. The flowers were all in bloom, shooting their pollen into my eyes like tiny bullets. Tiny. Itchy. Bullets. Well, that’s what it felt like. And yes, I begged my mom not to let me start that day, but she told me to “Get over it Emberle. You’re in High School for God’s sake.”

“I just want to fit in,” I told her. “I don’t want to stick out. What if my contact falls out and gets scratched. Then I can’t put it back in?”

“Then you keep your eyes closed all day,” my dad joked. But it wasn’t funny. I was being serious. WHY DON’T THEY LISTEN TO ME?

When I walked through those doors to a sea of people, backpack strapped across my shoulder, I wanted to die. Literally die. My eye started itching, so I reached for my eye drops. NO! I forgot them at home. I turned to where my mother had dropped me off, but her car was already gone. I couldn’t chase after her. Crap. 

“Don’t itch it,” I whispered. But I knew it wouldn’t last. I am such an idiot. I just ran to my first class, pushing through the crowds. If I sat in the back of the room, I could put my head down on the desk where no one could see.

The first part of the day was successful. I managed to make it through Period 1, 2, & 3 without incident. Lunch, however, was a little different. The Seniors & Juniors already took most of the spots in the Cafeteria that would allow me to be alone. Even the secluded picnic tables outside were taken by them. The Underclassmen were stuck in the crappier tables, all bunched together like sardines.

I grabbed my tray of food and squished between a boy and a girl. This table, at least, looked like it was filled with Nerds. They were talking about the Dungeons & Dragons game they were playing over the weekend. When they saw me, they asked my name.

“Emberle,” I answered with a half-smile. “Nice to meet you all.” But it wasn’t nice. I was focusing on my stupid eye. The windows in the Cafeteria were open, so the pollen was floating inside. You couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. My body was screaming “EMBERLE! WHY DO YOU TORTURE US WITH THIS FOREIGN OBJECT!? WE MUST MAKE YOU SCRATCH!”

But if my contact fell out… then everyone would see. And the rest of the day would suck. And I would want to die. I begged my body to stop, but it just made it worse. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I scratched. And, of f****** course, my contact fell out ON THE FLOOR. I tried not to look up, but one of the guys at the table noticed.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said. It looked like I was winking at him. God, I look so stupid. “I just lost my contact.”

“Oh no! Can you see okay or do you need help?”

I guess my brain wasn’t processing things correctly. It was probably the pollen. Looking up at them, I realized my mistake. The whole entire table gasped in unison. If my eyes weren’t such dramatically different colors, they may have not been so shocked.

“Your eyes…” one started to speak.

I was tearing up at this point. “I know. They look silly. I was born like this. And now, everyone can see. They look… they look…”

The boy from across the table pulled out something in his eye and looked at me. “They look just like mine. Only the opposite eye.”

My eyes widened. I had to squint to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. But he was right. His blue eye was on his left. Mine, right. His brown eye was on the right. Mine, left. Something felt weird when I looked at him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Eli,” said the girl sitting next to him. “Emberle looks a lot like you! Like scarily. Could she be your…?”

I felt like I was in a dream. He tilted his head and asked, “Are you adopted, per chance?”

I answered him with another question. “What is your last name?”

“Evancough,” he said. “Eli Emmett Evancough. My parents wanted to keep my old last name because of the-“

“The EEE,” I don’t think I had ever smiled so big in my life. Holy shit. I found my long-lost twin. My heart was racing. He was a mirror image of me, literally. Even the eyes. His hair was the same color. In fact, he looked like me in a masculine-form.

“This is the COOLEST lunch period EVER,” one of the guys laughed. The table instantly started asking me questions.

From then on, my parents never moved again. And I never put in that brown contact again.

 

Sorry for this post being late!  I hope you enjoyed it! 🙂

Writing Prompt (1).png

One thought on “Writing Prompt 4/9

  1. Pingback: pt.#23~ Eavesdropping on Locals – What if We all Cared?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s