Ephram sits on one of two computers, papers covering the desk and a pen tucked behind one ear. He frowns at the title for his blog entry, tempted to erase it. Picking up a school book, he looks through it for the day's homework assignment but puts it down because he can't avoid doing either assignment and the blog is due first. So, he types.
I hate talking about my childhood. It wasn't that long ago and it wasn't bad really. Most of the time it was boring despite my difference. This was back before we moved, so it wasn't a secret so I didn't make friends well but I wasn't hated either, which surprised me. But the memory I am supposed to post, I don't like to share. Especially with strangers. It's not bad or anything gross, I just don't like people thinking I'm girly and it makes me sound that way.
But I have to tell it anyways because she can't seem to get any of the older characters to talk about what they were like as kids. Stupid adults.
Speaking of adults, my parents are different than me. That is to say, they are normal and I'm not. Neither of my parents have what the government calls "a significant amount of mutation." It is a wonder how mine ended up so messed up. I think they blame it on a distant grandfather but I can't be certain. No one ever talks about it with me. And when I used to ask questions they always changed the subject, talking about anything but how I got my mutation. So, the only information I have is from conversations I secretly listened to in the past.
We even look different. Both her and my dad are very fair skinned with light blonde hair and blue eyed. My skin is almost as light as theirs but my other features are different. My hair is dark brown, almost black and my eyes are hazel. As a little kid I used to watch Mom early in the morning get ready for work. As I would watch I always wondered why I couldn't look like her and Dad. This is what makes me seem girly. Cause I would watch her get ready for work with the fancy brushes and makeup and a little part of me would wish I was a girl or a normal boy. Then she would spend more time with me.
I know that she is gone most of the time for work and not because I'm different, but it's crossed my mind. Dad isn't much better and he works less. It just sucks.
I hate being so different. Okay, there is my childhood memory. I have homework to do now.