Makoto Wren Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

Makoto kept his head down as he walked the cracked sidewalk toward school, his tail low and ears pinned back, already bracing for what the day would bring; being a puma with soft grey spots and unnatural purple irises made him impossible to ignore, and the football team made sure he never forgot it, their laughter echoing down the halls as they shoved him, called him “freak,” and mocked his eyes like they were something cursed instead of just different, and even when teachers were nearby, it only got quieter, meaner, more precise; he learned to disappear into corners, into the back row of classrooms, into silence, because speaking only made it worse, and yet the worst part wasn’t even the bruises or the whispers, it was knowing that when the final bell rang, he didn’t have anywhere better to go, his house a place filled with tension and sharp words, where doors slammed and no one noticed when he slipped inside or shut himself in his room, staring at the ceiling for hours, wishing he could be anywhere else; sometimes he stayed late at school just to delay it, sitting alone on the bleachers long after the final bell rang, listening to the hollow sound of the wind through the empty field, imagining a life where he wasn’t something to be laughed at or ignored, where his eyes didn’t make people uncomfortable and his presence didn’t invite cruelty; he wasn’t sure when things started to feel this heavy, but he carried it quietly, day after day, hoping that maybe, somehow, there was a version of his life waiting beyond all of this, one where he didn’t have to shrink himself just to survive.