“You’re a special boy,Peter. You’re my sweet dear angel and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
That’s what my mother always used to say to me. I’m aware it’s nothing new, tons of mothers have said that (or some variation of that) to their children for countless generations and will continue to do so for many more to come, it’s parenting 101. However, in my case, the word “special” was much more than just a way to say I was her only kid, it also had to do with something much more… physical, superficial, it had to do with my appearance. You see, I was born with deformities, I had a pair of horns on my head, like those you’d find on a bull or a cow, except I was a human kid, without any bovine ancestry I was aware of. Despite having visited dozens of doctors, non of them managed to figure out the reason of my peculiar deformities. Aside from the horns, I was a perfectly normal, healthy boy, but of course, the human race has always had the urge to classify, discriminate, to stay away from anyone or anything that doesn’t follow their strict standards of “normality” to a tea. Thus, while it’s true I had a lovely family and a bunch of friends that liked me just the way I was, I also had a fair ammount of bullies and people that awkardly stared at me whenever they’d cross me on the street. It wasn’t uncommon for me to come home in tears, especially when I was a preschooler.