The weird Kid

He was just like any other kid. He thought and saw things in general the same way other kids did. Something wrong about him though. He thought bitterly. It was just the way he moved that did not look right. The way his whole body bent in a strange curve as he walked. His right arm made strange figures to and forth, up and down – it looked just awful! That was probably why he did not have any friends! He went on sadly thinking…

His classmates did not sit on his side unless there were not any other places available. He did not mind that – he knew they called him “weird!” and in the end he was just happy he could go to school.

Back in his room, he would spend hours rehearsing “cooler” movements he copied from the lads he admired that resulted in a disaster anyway. But he was not aware of that. He would try to look cool before the mirror thinking on this or that lad sending facial orders his distorted face could not follow or would just not obey. And he would try to sound spontaneous: “Yeah! I see just what you mean!” – And he would laugh aloud, trying to imagine himself among his colleagues in a collective outburst of good mood.

I am just the narrator, boy did it not hurt? Witnessing that as I am writing… It just breaks my heart.

Then he would look around, pretending he was looking for the waiter until he would find one. And he would go as far as ordering another beer saying: “Same again, please!” And then…

And then he would just sit back down on his bed, and cried the hell out of himself, weeping incessantly until his mother came into his room as usually and took him in her arms. “What is it my son? C’mon! Everything is going to be alright! You know that?”




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