So Breslin Black, heroine of The Naming of Colton Black, begged for her own post. Just a quick rant. That’s all she wanted. I’m giving it to her in exchange for step-by-step guidance through the creation of her story. (I know I’m delusional. Just go with it.)
I can’t believe him. I can’t believe he wouldn’t understand me. His own flesh and blood. But whatever. It’s never been any different, has it? Not even when I was five, and I cried because I’d fallen down the stairs. And he simply stared at me, scolded me for being careless, then left me to pick myself back up. Didn’t even bother to see that it was Cole’s forgotten sword I had tripped over. Why would he? His son could do no wrong. Ever.
The minute that X chromosome chose me I had become every wrong my father despised. Funny. Dr. White said it was the man who determined a baby’s gender. I smiled at the thought of that. The absurdity of it. Who was wrong now, father? I didn’t choose this. You did.