You, being sadly raised my VERY homophobic parents, would be VERY unhappy if you came out. With you being homeschooled by your parents and a ruler. Scars are just a silent reminder that you are their child and they are the one in control here.

It was July, and the ramble and jumble of free and proud people rang through the streets. You sourly watched through the window, but quickly ducked as someone met your face. You dropped to your knees, hiding under the window. Embarrassed that they caught you staring. You quickly staggered up and bolted to your room as your heard the footsteps of your parents.

Once they were gone, you tip-toed out your window, just to get a better look. Though, you know how mad your parents would be if they saw this, you ignored the fear churning in your stomach and headed out, dodging the windows and cameras. You saw the bright burst of colors at your front door. You were amazed, like a young child at a candy shop. You held back a joyful squeal as you came a little closer.

As you continued to happily observe, somehow you got pulled in, your eyes widened but you followed the crowd. Desperately trying to get out. Though, this was the happiest you’ve even been, you knew the consequences if your parents found out. As you were about to get out of the cluster of proud people, you missteped and twisted your ankle, falling as you accidentally tripped on someone foot. You let out a stifled yell as you got the dirt floor. Skidding against the ground. Your knee, and hands bleeding.

You let out a pained groan as you stagger up, to feel two cold hand grabbing your shoulders and pulling you up, rebalancing you in a somewhat aggressive way. You let out a soft gasp as you turned around to see a slim figure, with a black hoodie with purple, white, and yellow shiny beaded necklaces, a nonbinary place, and some parts of their black messy hair dyed or bleached white, purple and yellow.