Browsing: Prose

In highschool a classmate calls me a sand n—. It’s the first time I’ve heard the term, and I’m more confused by it than anything else.

“Stop that, loser,” she says, “I dunno why you’re so nervous—all these rituals are just smoke and mirrors.”

and she turns and looks at me, an irritated sigh, you know asian people hate black people right? as if sorry to break it to you kiddo.

Everyone around me thinks I have a healthy relationship with my illness (irony intended) because I’m so open about it.