Living? Not Really.

In a world where color made everything. People were ruled by what their hair color was. Different colors wielded different powers. Nobody had seen a White in a millennia but there I was. A White of only 18 locked in a cell since before I can remember.
Then he came. Another White. They told me I was a mistake. They told me I was impossible. But he stands. Another impossibility. Only he held out his hand like a friend. He didn't raise it like an enemy. He treated me like a person. The first to see past my hair.
So I took his hand and I let him lead me into a world of rebels. Into a world of misfits and strangers. He lead me to freedom. And I live everyday grateful that he broke me out. Even if in the end we destroyed each other.