He was sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, barely looking people gathered around him, seeing everyone as two shiny gloating eyes and a bright smirk of victory. This morning he was summoned to the principal’s office; the secretary came in the class room, said his name and eagerly he went, longing to hear an apology that was long due.
Being a middle child, he always felt out of place; he wasn’t the family’s pride and joy that is his older brother or the pretty little princess that is his younger sister, always felt like a transitional phase, the gap filler between his two siblings, even his mother would find it difficult to adjectify his name whenever mentioning him to someone.
He was an average student, a normal kid; no exceptional talents or remarkable abilities, no stupendous flaws or striking vices, neither funny nor melancholic, he is the perfect personification of the word in-between, the average Moe if one can say that.
Average height, average weight, and average complexion until one day, he realized that he hadn’t had a haircut for some time, his hair grew nicely and the curls he once hated became his thing, his special feature.
Some made fun of it, many envied it, just the day before his teacher gave him a final notice to have his hair cut, but for him none of this mattered, as long as he was noticed, known for something he posses, for once he wasn’t the side kick; he ceased being the Robin in every story and started thinking about having his own, he finally got an adjective before his name, a unique description, an identity.
He was sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, barely looking people gathered around him, seeing everyone as two shiny gloating eyes and a bright smirk of victory. Lost in the humming, laughter and driveling around, he saw it.
Nothingness started to rustle from within and a heavy force took over his soul; enclosing his heart in his rib cage, pressing his beats against his will. He shouted, protested, bargained and begged but no sound was coming out of his lips, only the clanging of the fumbling scissors, gruffly denying him of being.
His eyes followed the first drift of his hair helplessly caressing the ground. He swigged his sorrow and set a tear free.