Books were his refuge. His sanctuary. His safe place. His home. You would never see him without one, an it was a different one each time. He read all kinds of different genres--realistic fiction, fantasy, sci-fi, historical, romance. It didn't matter to him, so long as it helped him
(more) escape the horrible reality that was his life.
There was his mom. She had died in a fire when he was eight years old, leaving him nothing to remember her by. Not even her favorite copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. That burnt in the fire as well. People living in his small town would have taken more pity on him if it wasn't for his sexuality.
He was gay. In his tiny, religious town, not many people accepted that. It wasn't like he was burnt at the stake or bullied every day, but no one ever talked to him. He got some of the dirtiest looks as he passed through the halls. He sat alone at lunch, worked alone for group projects.
He didn't really understand it all, so it didn't bother him much. He knew their dirty looks and whispers behind his back were wasted, since it didn't hurt him in the slightest bit. Maybe it was the fact that he'd lost a parent at a young, or maybe it was because he'd been going through this for a long while now. Whatever it was, he was strong. One could almost compare him to a hard back book. (less)
