Storytime
“What color am I?”
I hate that question. HATE it.
Coming out of the mouth of my high school bully made me hate it even more.
Her aura had a heavy haze of cyncism. She didn’t believe in auras, and she was challenging me to prove her wrong.
Underneath cynicism was a cloud of fear. It was thicker than the haze, almost smoky, like inhaling secondha…