When the little kid was inquired about his favorite color by a group of same-aged boys who sat in close proximity to him, he said "Pink!" in an enthusiastic voice tinged with the purity of a child.
Quickly were the expressions of the boys soured once the words of the kid entered their ears and soaked into their brains.
"Pink?! That's for girls!" said the head of the group with a level of unadulterated disgust that seemed much beyond his body and years. His followers mindlessly echoed his sentiment, cackling like a clan of spotted hyenas fighting over a day-old carcass.
The little kid's heart wavered and wavered, ultimately falling out of his chest and shattering into innumerable fragments like an expensive porcelain bowl striking the strongest alloy.
This was only visible to the child and me. The boys' eyes that had evolved differently blocked out the sight like nothing. Their eyes were blind to certain things. Their skins were sensationless to certain things.
The sharp heart fragments dispersed into the air and cut my sensitive skin. A level of pain was communicated to me. It was like the little child was asking for help. There was a will in me, but it was shot down by the piercing stares of the boys who were a little older than me.
The boys took turns reciting all of their favorite colors, which was about seven due to their elementary level of knowledge. All but the Forbidden Ps were mentioned. A hot streak of pride surged their hearts, and their teeth shone with dirty glory.
Was it the fault of the boys? Was it the fault of those who raised them? Was it the fault of those who had raised the raisers? I was not sure.
The tumult eventually subsided, and I mustered the courage to sit next to the broken boy. He looked at me as his eyes welled up with tears and his mouth shut close.
"I like purple!" I said.
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