When love shines brighter then the hottest of flames, how do we approach certain situations? Like death? Of course, I cannot completely say that I know how it feels to suffer through such things as love, but I am not ignorant to the feelings of people around me.
Although meaningless words do often slither from one's teeth, they are occasionally reinforced by the simple actions that most would not notice. I do. Though without someone to confide in, what does it matter that I observe such unimportant things? Perhaps it is because I have nothing better to do. When you have no companions, there is not much you can do to entertain yourself but observe the behaviors of the average person. Why do I say average? There is no such thing. Every single one in this world is different. Average and normal are words that just do not exist. Who can say what normal is? When so many people have such different views and opinions on even the tiniest thing, a median can hardly be established. Dull may be a better word. That is exactly what my school is; at least the appearance of it.
Tall, dark brown bricks build the walls that surround the inner workings of this social labyrinth. The paved path leads to the entrance of the academy. A gate guards the front, on it a sign that says Hiroshimi Academy. It's the best school in Japan. How I got in? I have no idea. Maybe they felt bad for me. Despite the schools depressing appearance, the students are fairly joyful. Of course, I am the one exception. I don't exactly have the best outlook on things. I guess that's just what happens when you grow up like I did.
I'm Kyoko, a 15 year old girl with pure white hair that falls just below my shoulders. My skin was an unusually pale, snowy white color. My eyes changed from red to gold, sometimes other colors. Luckily, they usually stayed dark red.
Of course, I have no idea why my eyes change color. It's something I've just become accustomed to. Without shoes I stand about 5' 9" tall, which is at least two inches above the average height of girls in this area of Japan. My clothes do attract a lot of ridicule, but I don't care. Anyone who would rather waste their time judging a person than doing something productive isn't even worth a second glance. The clothes I wore were usually darker. I guess you could call it gothic, or maybe emo; whatever the stereotype going around now is.
I don't exactly have many friends. Actually, I only have one friend. His name is Kazuya Maasaki. He is about two inches taller than me, and wears grungy clothes. He has short black hair with greenish eyes. He needs glasses, but they look good on him. He isn't abnormally pale; his skin color is a plain peach.
Kazuya and I have known each other since either of us can remember. I have no idea what was going through his mind when he decided to become my friend, but ever since we met we have been inseparable. His choice to befriend me has, in turn, ruined his social reputation. I sympathize for him. If it weren't for me, he could be popular. He insists that he would rather be my best friend then hang out with the posers at Hiroshimi Academy.