“Oooooh, Oooooh, Radioactive! Radioactive!” I sing loudly, as the water beats down on my exposed back. I stand beneath the midget shower I installed myself on the second floor of my bookshelf. It isn’t flash, like a real shower, but it serves its purpose. Mum and I cut up one of those flour sifters and strung it up to resemble a showerhead. All I have to do is pour water into the bucket suspended overhead and presto! You’ve got yourself a fully functioning mini-shower! “I raise my flag, and don my clothes… it’s a revolution I suppose…” I continue to sing, whilst lathering soap over my tanned skin and feeling the warm water rinse it off. Droplets run down my hair ant the sides of my face. “We’re painted re-“

“Will you shut up, bro?” A voice yells over my singing. I wince slightly at its amplitude, having no ear protection on at the moment, but it doesn’t bother me too much.

“You sing in the shower, too!” I shout back, even though I can’t see Cameron beyond my makeshift shower curtain. This section of my bookshelf is closed off from giant prying eyes by a thick plank of wood. At least that way I get my privacy.

“A least I don’t sing crappy songs like Radioactive!” He calls from outside, causing me to roll my eyes comically. I don’t reply to his comment; instead I continue to sing, purposely louder than before.

“To fit right in… oohhh. I’m breaking in, and shaping up, and checking out of the prison bus… this is it, the apocalypse…”

“Don’t make me come in there!” Cameron yells. “I swear to god!”

“I’m waking up I feel it in my bones, enough to make my system blow!”

“Shut up!”

“Welcome to the new age, to the new… SHIT!” I yelp in shock as my brother’s huge hand squeezes through the gap in the shelf to rip the shower curtains away. “Hey!” I yell, as I try to cover my genitals with my hands. The water still beats down on me, the lack of the curtain fogging up my mirror. “That’s gross, Cameron!”

My brother’s head appears from outside and he stifles a giggle at the sight of me, soaking wet and visibly naked standing in my midget shower. “I told you to stop singing!” He laughs.

I don’t get the joke. I’m shivering from the lack of warmth provided from my curtain. “You’re disgusting!” I say incredulously. “Pervert!”

Cameron rolls his huge eyes and drops my curtain. It swings back into place to conceal me and I gingerly remove my hands from my privates to stick my head out of the gap in the material.

“Can you please let me finish my shower?” I ask, giving Cameron the death stare. He rolls his eyes again, seeing my pout. An idea pops into my head and I say: “I’ll sing one of your favourite songs, like ‘The Story Of My Life!’” Cameron’s a huge Directioner. He doesn’t like confessing it to anyone, but once you’re in his bedroom, you can tell he’s addicted. He’s not gay or anything like that, but the enormous posters of Niall and Louis hung up beside his bed are a little unnerving.

Cameron’s smile returns. “Deal.” He winks, causing me to sigh. As I continue my shower, I try to recall a few lines of the One Direction songs, failing miserably. I end up repeating the line: “Let’s go crazy, crazy, crazy till we see the sun!” until my throat is raw. By then I’m certain Cam won’t be returning to sneak a look at my guy parts. Smiling to myself, I wrap a fluffy doll’s towel around me and grab a pair of trackies and a blue t shirt from my cupboard, as well as a matching set of earmuffs.

Yawning, I slip into my bed and pull the covers tightly up to my chin. Kingaroy weather is hot usually, but it’s coming into winter now, and with my midget body, I’m freezing. As an afterthought I tup on some fuzzy yellow socks to warm up my feet. A minute passes by as I stare up at the checked ceiling of my bookshelf tiredly. Then, shrugging, I sit up and lug my IPod onto the bed with me, fumbling for the thick white earphone cord connected to it.

The last time my Dad visited from Tokyo, he brought with him my Christmas present; not only my specially made earmuffs but a matching cord to go with them. It is a normal thickness, but rather than splitting into two regular sized earplugs, it can connect to my midget sized earmuffs and also has the ability to control the sound of the music so it’s much quieter than usual. Often I plug my earmuffs into the cord and listen to music when I sleep. But tonight, I’m back on Instagram.

I press my palm to the photo icon and bring up a recent photo of Thomas and I playing Mario Kart together on the couch. After our first race, Cameron offered to take a photo. Mind you, since it’s been taken on an IPod, the definition’s terrible, but it’s the first picture I’ve had taken with a real friend. Ebony’s an exception, but I mean a real guy my age.

I’m smiling as I enter the caption for the photo with my palms. Thomas smiles back at me from the screen, along with my smaller form on the coffee table beside him. My hands waver over the keyboard for a moment, before I type out a quick sentence; Mario Karting with Thomas after school. The screen flashes as my picture loads. Instantly, Thomas likes the photo and comments: Cool pic, MiniMark! See you tmoz!

Laughing quietly, I immediately reply: I’ll be the guy sitting on a dude’s shoulder ;)

Figured. Thomas types up. I glance at my picture again and notice that over fifty people have already liked it. They’re all in my classes. I decide against telling Cam about it. He’s worried enough about me as it is. I can hear him in his room now, actually. Despite my earmuffs, I can hear the loud music playing through the wall between my book shelf and his bedroom.

I scroll down my feed boringly, but stop on one particular picture. It’s of a young girl with raven coloured hair and shining green eyes. She holds a soccer ball under one arm and smiles widely at the camera. My eyes travel instantly to the caption beneath it:  I Wish I Was Normal.

“Ebony.” I whisper under my breath, still staring at the smiling girl in the photo. That was Ebony from almost three years ago, when she was a normal teenager like Cameron. I was eleven or so then, but I remember her as a normal girl like it was yesterday. She and Cam got into the State Soccer Team together, only weeks before she was diagnosed with Shrignakemia and changed. I haven’t seen her in almost a full year. She’s got severe depression, though, and hates her life and her cancer that died with her spirit. I do too, sometimes.

I lay my hand down on the comment section of her photo and type hastily: Me too, Ebby. Are you ok?

I’m not surprised when she answers immediately. Being a midget, the IPod is my life. Since we can’t really do many normal things like sports or even shopping, we usually amuse ourselves on Instagram, or some other app. Yeah, just down lately. How’s the new school going btw? Ebony types.

Great! Made heaps of friends and got to become the DJ for our sport lessons! What about u? I type back, grinning. It takes a few minutes for her next message to come through; probably because she was thinking or something beforehand. At least she’s talking to me instead of ignoring me like she usually does.

Really? I don’t go to sport lessons full stop. Usually hang out in the library with my IPhone then. I miss soccer…

Same, but I like watching everyone play. It’s cool!

Hey, I’m coming to your place for the weekend bcoz my parents are away in Brisbane. C u then :)

Cool! C u :D I reply, knowing she doesn’t want to talk anymore. It’ll be Wednesday tomorrow, according to my Calender, so she’ll be staying over in four days. I haven’t seen Eb since she was recently cured, and she looked like hell back then. I hope she’s recovered a little from her depression now. It doesn’t help me to have the downsides of being midget laid out like it’s a flashing poster.

Sighing, I lock my IPod and push it off the bed so it’s beside me, before I tug my earmuffs off and roll over to face the far wall of my shelf. I stare straight at my tissue box wardrobe, as well as a few scattered pillows pattered with polka dots. It’s only seven thirty at night, but Cameron and Mum know my curfew. I get tired too easily to stay up late. Trekking around the house is a nightmare, but it’s also the way I am. And if that means I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, then I’ll have to make do with it. And I have. For eight years and counting, I’ve dealt with it.

And I’m not going to stop fighting. Well, at least not until I put my head down on that pillow. With a final breath, I let my eyes slip shut and pull me into a dreamless sleep. But I do allow myself to think about one thing before I drift away. The caption Ebony wrote after her photo:

I Wish I Was Normal.