apollo fammels; district 6. [not fin.]

When I was little, I would cry.

I would have long hair, as blonde as a beach's sand, and it would be pulled back, wrapped tightly in a black ponytail holder. I always wore my hair like that, because that's what the girls did and they always looked pretty. No one knew that, though! I would just tell them that I didn't like it when the wind would blow my hair in my face. I would say that it annoyed me. And usually, I'd have on a thick, loose sweater, not thankful for the parents that I had. (I remembered once, while I was crying, I stopped because I realized that my sweater wasn't loose enough. If that stopped me from crying, I don't understand why I didn't change my sweater every time.) I would sit in my window sill, and put my head in my hands, and cry. Saline-filled, lukewarm tears would fight through my tear ducts and slide down my cheeks.