Once upon a time, there was a little girl, who was all blue.

Her ears were blue, and her hair was blue, and the skin all over was blue, and even her eyebrows were blue. Different shades of blue, but all blue.

Only her eyes were black, and her teeth were white.

Or atleast, they used to be white, until she stopped caring about brushing them- 'Nobody likes me anyway', she thought.

And it was true, too.
All the other children were coloured in many colours, brown eyes and black hair and pink or cream or brown skin, and pink lips, and still-white teeth, and when they got cut or hurt it went red or brown or purple.

And they didn't think it was- nice- no, right- no,- [the word they were looking for was normal, but they didn't know it] -that someone should be one colour, just one colour, all over.

When they got older, they learnt the word, but they learnt how to make not liking her sound nicer. It's not interesting, they said. Everyone is many colours for a reason.

She didn't want to cry because it looked so silly, as though she were leaking out of her eyes.
And she wasn't much into crying anyway- she tried looking sad instead, but she saw herself in a mirror and started laughing.

She didn't even have any of those talents which make you popular even if you are weird. She wasn't a genius, she didn't sing brilliantly or play the guitar or run very fast or talk very wittily or look beautiful despite the colour. She was just okay.

Nobody notices okay people, she notices.
Everyone left her to it.
Which is a good idea, you know, with children- because they think about it, and wonder why, and get to understand things.
Which is a lovely thing, because then you get little girls like this one-
a little blue girl who refuses to be blue. And almost makes you wish you were one too.