Skinned Alive

Micah didn't think of himself as a fish out of water. He didn't like the confinement of schools, is all. The more people wandered into his circle, the more Micah felt outside the action, like an observer of an experiment with which he had no connection. Crowds made for lonesome company, so the back of the classroom, back pressed against a cellulite-patterned taupe wall, was the most comfortable seat to sit and listen to his hopscotching thoughts. Like the one about

the new girl's skin is shiny not oily shiny but more like she tosses glitter in the air and runs through the cloud of sparkly particulates until she's sufficiently covered the effect is not unpleasing but it makes her look like the survivor of a crafts store explosion but her braids are nice and I like how the patches of her skin not hidden under little foil slivers like silver reminds me of Gramp's Jerseys makes me miss the farm but we're only real as someone else's memory

Micah had no reason to be, really, but he was interested in the new girl and wanted to know what she called herself. He knew what the others called her, but no parent would give a kid a name like that. Not where he was from, anyway. Despite Micah's warmish feelings toward her, the new girl gave off a haunted, hunted vibe strong enough to give Micah nerve pain in his teeth. The chill that ran through his body when he got within a few feet of her was love and revulsion all bound up in one big spine-rattling shiver.