The summer I was twelve, I was reading on the strained porch swing. I was reading about the black cat and how terribly it needed to be dealt with. In between page turns, he wandered over. I heard the grass crunch underneath his boots, but figured one of the cats had gotten loose. Then, I flipped the page, and his shadow obstructed the hanging part.
Ashley cut the porch in half with his jagged appearance. He was a slender willow branch of a boy. All his limbs were stretched just an inch too long, his neck a few centimeters too thin, his eyes a fraction too large for his face. Everything about him was slightly off, slightly disjointed from the part it was attached to. His wrists were too tiny for his hands, which were too large, and his fingers, which were too spidery. His joints were knotty bumps along his unnaturally white skin. He retained an appearance of beauty, as long as you didn't look close enough. When you got too personal, he transformed into a creature wearing a