Originally published in "100 Words, 100 Books" published by O' Brien Press for the RTE Bookshow short fiction competition.
Susan had always found humans difficult. Their off-whites and dim blacks never sat well with her, the daily commute an unwelcome reminder of how poorly her jigsaw pieced with the rest of the world - eyes heavy, mind tarry and faltering. The radio whispered the misery of the day as the grey wetness of the rain seemed to seep in through the windshield, pedestrians peering in at her from the concrete footpaths. Other drivers floated by, oblivious to her sharp eyes. She watched the milky pallor of her hands as it ebbed to and from her fingertips, draining to the rhythm of her steering wheel squeezes. She concentrated on dulling herself, zipping up the human suit she squeezed her blackness into each day, hiding her alien eyes, her short fuse and her knowledge that everything she saw was just simply wrong. She parked exactly, the muddy ivory lines framing her vehicle with the symmetry she needed. She sighed, eyes ahead, and prepared to enter the blur of other people's reality. A colleague waved, smiling brightly, and Susan flashed back a pearly response. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Another day had begun.