Dan

“Seventeen,” Dan thought. Finally, he was seventeen. It was January 27th and flurries of snowflakes airbrushed the ground and trees white. He breathed in the crisp air through his open window and snuggled deeper into the blankets of his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair. His Mum had freaked out at first about his haircut, even told him that he would go to hell if he didn’t grow it out again. Eventually, after many fights, many months, and therapy sessions, his Mum accepted that Dan was Dan. He was still her child, just not Danielle. She finally understood that she wasn’t losing a child. Danielle was the same person as Daniel. But Daniel was happier. Dan smiled now. Smiled at her, his Mum. As Dan was seventeen now, he could make more decisions for himself. He pulled on his usual black on black on black outfit and went downstairs for breakfast.