Finn

Finn was pale and peculiar and blue. His hair was blue, his lips were blue and his hands were blue. That's what she said.

I asked, "Why was he blue? I never met a blue person before. Be specific."

He was just a really pale blue. His hair was always pale blue, because he liked the color. He dyed his hair that way, even though mom told him not to. But then his skin and fingernails and lips all wanted to be like his hair. And his eyes—his eyes stopped shining. It made me sad and I cried. I think it was because he liked to wear ladies underwear and bras and he would prance around his room with dusty angel wings on his back. I told him not to, I told him people would see, but he said he didn't care.

He'd say,"Let the perverts watch then."

I don't know how he got the angel wings. I think it was in our grandmother's attic.

Finn was different, he really was.

"But—I don't understand," I said.

It was those big boys with the muscles and the evil grins on their faces. I always saw them watching him at school but I never thought anything of it. I wished I had said something, I wished I had stopped them but I was too small and scared. I hid under the bed and then … I don't know. And then Finn was blue.