The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the playground. I sat on a bench, my fists still clenched from the fight earlier. The other kids played and laughed, but I was always on the outskirts, not because I wanted to be, but because I didn't fit in.
School was a battlefield. While my classmates followed the rules and excelled in their studies, I found myself drawn to anything but the expected. I had a quick temper and a love for fighting, which often landed me in trouble. My teachers saw me as a troublemaker, my peers as someone to avoid.
My parents tried their best, but I knew they were worried. They loved me, but they couldn't hide their concern. Our society valued conformity, and I was anything but conforming. My fists were my voice, and they spoke loudly against a world that didn't understand me.
These thoughts filled my mind, I was sitting at the kitchen table, my knuckles still sore from the day's skirmish. My mom was cooking dinner, the smell of her famous spaghetti filling the room. I absentmindedly traced the fresh bruise on my arm, lost in thought.
"Lorian, can you set the table?" my mom called, breaking my reverie.
"Yeah, sure," I muttered, pushing back my chair. As I set out the plates and silverware, I couldn't shake the feeling of being different, of not fitting in.
At school the next day, things weren't any better. During recess, I hung out by the fence, watching the other kids play soccer. My latest fight had left me with a black eye, but I didn't care. It was just another badge of my rebellion.
"Why don't you ever play with us?" a voice asked. I looked up to see Ethan, one of the more popular kids in our class.
"I don't like soccer," I said flatly, my voice hard.
Ethan shrugged. "You're weird, Lorian. Always picking fights." He ran off to join his friends, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The words stung, but they weren't new. I'd heard variations of them all my life. "Weird," "different," "failure." They echoed in my mind, reinforcing the idea that I didn't belong.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I sat by my bedroom window, staring at the stars. I wondered if there was a place where someone like me could fit in, a world where my strength and defiance were seen as assets, not liabilities. I didn't have any answers, but the stars gave me a small measure of comfort. They were constant and unchanging, a silent reminder that there was more to the universe than the narrow expectations of my world.
As I drifted off to sleep, I clung to that thought, hoping that one day I would find a place where I truly belonged.