I remember one time when I was in nursery. That memory tastes of rusted metal, for it was the moment that changed everything people knew about me, my life, everything. It made me what I am: a freak. My vision flashes white whenever that word is mentioned: freak. I am a freak. If only I hadn't reacted. If only he hadn't touched that window. If only that window wasn't there. If only it wasn't made. If only the window hadn't been invented. To think- just what seemed like an amazing idea to me before turned into an enemy.
It happened during snacktime. There was a hum in the air, tasting of smokey bacon. We were all sat munching at biscuits. Those biscuits were delicious- whenever I tasted one, bursts of colour sparkled in front of me. I never spoke about those colours; I thought everyone saw them. I wish that thought was still here, raging in my head like some wonderful sea of innocence and belonging. But it isn't. Not when I heard The Sound.
It came so suddenly, a sort of screeching, squealing sound. As I heard it, I could see splashes of scarlet before my eyes, and there was a putrid taste in my mouth, followed by a throbbing pain in my skull; it was as if someone was stabbing me in the head. There was a loud scream, that tasted of vomit, the colour of white, and I felt someone yanking at my wrist. I realized the scream came from me.
"The red stars!" I screeched. "Stop the red stars! Stop the yucky taste! Stop it! Stop it!"
I looked round to see the figure of a boy scraping at the glass, gazing out onto the street outside. Hatred rushed through me and I lashed out at him. Somebody yanked me back and I was pinned to the ground. All I could so was wriggle and writhe under sturdy grip. By the time the ambulance came, I'd given up struggling and fell asleep on the way to the hospiatal. I woke up, the doctors gave me a few tests and said I had synaethesia.
I was sent home straight away and went back to nursery the day after. As I came in, there was the delicious bacon taste for one split second but then, it changed to spots of deep purple as everybody gazed at me. The assisants told them to 'be nice' and 'not say nasty things about the other day'. The children all nodded.
I sat down onto the rug and started playing with the building blocks. Looking round, I couldn't identify the scratching boy. I built a tower, but its red colour sent that putrid taste to my mouth again. Only faintly, though. As I stood and admired it, there was a deafening clash with the colour of bright yellow as a chubby hand knocked it down.
"Get lost, freak," the owner of the hand spat. She was a thin girl with ginger hair and green eyes. "You don't deserve these."
That girl grew up to my second worst enemy after that imaginary boy who changed my life forever...