When other kids my age feared being forced to drink milk...I feared death. I was different, and that fact never failed to make its existence obvious. While I was convinced my life was a curse, one day it so happened... On an especially crowded street with more soldiers than civilians, I tried to carry my twelve year old self without having people shove me to the ground. They successfully did though, they always did. At that point, it did not even feel like anything beyond an added dirt stain on my dress. I got up, to see a hand circle my mouth before I could even think of reacting. Then another hand swiftly lifted me to my feet. I had already been panting but with my nose covered, I craved air. After about a blurry minute I found myself in a dimly lit kitchen. The boy who lifted me a while ago insisted I do the dishes. I protested at first, cried even but one glare of his was enough to shut me up. As I did what I was told out of fright, I heard voices of many me...
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