On storytelling and life The Alien
I had an alien schoolmate in my grade school. I don't remember exactly which planet she came from because we still haven't learned about planets and galaxies when she first introduced herself to us and told us where she came from, and nobody would ask her later. Even now, I still remember her very well. Everyone found her weird then, because she was very different from everyone else. She was very fair-skinned (except for her cheeks, which were rosy red), her hair had the most golden shade I have ever seen, she walked like her feet were not touching the ground, and she acted odd. Nobody would go near her, and I was always so happy to see her alone, and I would join in the laughter when someone says she was seen picking her nose in public, and I would quietly call her stupid for having a wrong answer when the teacher called on her, and I never liked her to join any of the games that I was allowed to join.
She is back on her home planet now, and I think back and I feel guilty (even though deep inside I still find myself thinking she deserved it, for she did not have black frizzy hair, and a blotchy complexion, and she wasn't always slipping and falling on the hall like I always did before).
I would have liked to walk up to her now and say I'm sorry for the things I've done and the things I've thought, before. But she probably will not remember me and it is better to just let the hurts of childhood remain forgotten. For children, by nature, are cruel, and the child who has experienced the cruelty of other children is the cruelest of them all.
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