Zoe

I’m Zoe, and yeah, life feels a little heavier these days, literally and figuratively. My snow white fur, long white hair, and pink eyes already made me stand out, but now I carry myself differently, slower, more deliberate. People notice right away, though I don’t give them the satisfaction of explaining anything. I tug at my black crop top and slip my hands into the waistband of my ripped jeans, pretending I don’t see the curious looks. Inside, I know I show, but I’ve learned to hold my head high and meet every glance with a smirk that says I don’t care. At school, I keep to myself in the halls, sketchbook tucked under my arm, earbuds in blasting something moody, something that matches the rhythm of my steps. I move through the day like I’m walking across a stage, aware of the way my frame has changed, how I take up more space than I used to. Some people whisper, some just stare, but none of them really know me, and that’s how I like it. I’m not here to tell anyone a story they don’t deserve to hear. When the day is over, I retreat to the places that let me breathe—the café with the soft lighting, the empty park bench under a flickering streetlamp, or my own room lit by strings of dim pink bulbs. That’s where I find my rhythm again, sketching curves on paper that echo my own baby filled abdomen, thinking about who I’m becoming while I lean back and let the world outside spin without me. I’m gonna be an interesting mom….