She may have been slow but she was bright nonetheless. A pulsing pulsar waiting for true recognition. These floundering fops and silly-faced mandroids meant well for sure, but it was reeking of condescension or a kind of sickening pity. Pity the fool but the fool is you.
The looks they gave, the high pitch in the voice oozing with “aren’t you special” droppings and lilting exaggeration. Their doe eyes screamed at her to be poked and gouged at. She brittled with anger and attitude internally, within the cranium, some nerve they got. The voice of what she felt was really her, gasping for release, kept calling out, ill with the present stasis clamped on her. It rattles the cage to little avail.
What do they call her now? Mentally challenged, not retarded anymore. Some asswipes ruined another perfectly fine word with their assery and jocular erosion. The inside her was yelping and thrashing to get out but it just couldn’t. The sweet, simple personality shone out for all to see and no one would perceive her true nature. Even she was not really cognizant of it. It was a paltry tremor in the back of her head, like that faint itch under your skin you can never get to.
But this second self suffered the indignities piled on her, delivered to the sunny-faced shell. All those people cooed and gave great big flappy smiles to little miss special. If she could get out she’d tell ’em what for right quick, a Little Lulu winding up her fists. “Why must she be the one to flourish?”she pondered and wandered around her mental prison. “I’m so sick of fucking coloring!”
Her frustration grew and started to eat itself. Black and gold serpents twining and folding, jaws swallowing tails in panoramic infinity loops. Fangs and slitted eyes every which way, multiplying, flashing reds and heads banging on the surrounding gray. Screams and gutteral howls collapsing into orkish daggers flying randomly about. Schisms approaching, inside voice turning inside out. The bright eyed girl rots away in lethal limbo.