"As she stared at the postcard with bright writing and happy faces, she wondered something in her head.
Why wasn't she like this fabricated family?
She touched the faces, wondering what it was like to be one of them. Below her, the city was alive. Everywhere, people walked side by side, hands held, chattering. Around her, lights were everywhere. signaling life and vibrance. Phones rang, girls giggled, boys joked, dance music played.
The lights were everywhere, but where she sat. Where she was, the ground was cold, but not as cold as her. The lights were out and everything was black. There was no music. No laughing. No life. Just silence as the night began to start. She stared out at the world, wondering what it was like to be one of the people walking. To have a destination to go, to have people to hold her when she fell, to laugh and have memories.
But it was forbidden to her.
She looked down at the postcard again. To be like them. To look like them. To be like us.
She got up and stepped into the dark room. This was her. There was no warmth. Only silence and echoes of the night below. Another day was coming soon. But not even the sunlight of the day could break this. For being marked as a freak never held happiness in the eyes of others. It only held confusion and hate.
She shut the door.
Like every other night."