iA girl's sister was taken to be a Jedi and she's all upset. Aw. Anyway, I own nothing and reviews would be very welcome please./i

A room full of people and their noise. The windows shut tight against the winter cold, streaked with hand prints and smears. The many desks in a rather haphazard organisation, graffiti-covered and in some cases wobbling. The door slightly ajar to spill sound out into the corridor beyond, scuff marks on the bottom where it has been kicked by countless feet. Cupboards and shelves with a myriad of books, coats, bags, lunch boxes strewn across them, bright colours standing out in the messy heaps. The old carpet tiles, rough and a dark turquoise colour, peeling up from the corners due to the uncounted numbers of people walking across.

But the room full of life and vibrancy due to the thirty people inside. One group, four people, leant across a desk, some sitting on the desk and one on a chair, their heads almost touching as they peer at the photos on a digital camera, laughing and joking at the images. In one corner of the room two people give birthday presents to a third, who delightedly hugs them and yammers her thanks for the cake and the t-shirt. Around the room people sit on chairs or desks, some sit on the floor and others lean on cupboards or the walls or each other, talking or laughing or listening to music. A low cacophony of distorted music, drums and bass mostly, rumbles from personal CD players to cause even more noise. A vast array of colours fill the place: black, red, pink, green, yellow, blue, white, navy, gold; and shades of those colours make it a blinding rainbow in the brightly lit room.

Colour, light, music, laughter, talking – the old and shabby room is alive with the youths taking up all the space. But me? I feel dead, cold and dead inside. I sit at my desk, one corner propped up on a wad of paper, the lid not quite shut due to the volume of books inside. My mind is blank to the life around me: I feel like a ghost although in all reality I'm not as I sit here in my jeans, black hoody and trainers. I can hear Biffy Clyro blasting from the headphones of my best friend's CD player, the volume so high that I can even hear the words, but for once it doesn't irritate me. She's the only one that would notice my pain but she's lost in her own world, sorrowful because of the death of her budgie.

And me? I lost my baby sister this morning. Oh, she's not dead – don't worry about that. But the little two-year-old darling was taken away, taken to some temple on Coruscant where she'll learn to be a Jedi. I should be glad, I know, because it's such an honour to be related to a Jedi. But I'm not, how can I be: I lost my beloved sister, the girl who brought colour into my world. She's always been smiling and happy since she was born: if anyone's upset she'll climb into their lap and make them smile too.

No she won't, not now. She'll never climb onto my bed in the morning now, she'll never sit at the table and demand that I eat everything on my plate or she'll scream. She's not a part of our family any more – she's a part of the Jedi family.

When that man carried her onto the ship, my mother cried. I haven't seen her cry before, not even when da left, and it hurt so much to see. Mama didn't want to lose her daughter, just as I didn't want to lose my sister. In the few hours we had together after that before mama left for work and I for school mama's tears dried up and were replaced by an blankness, a lack of emotion that was almost frightening. Loss has added years to her face; sorrow has added more. So much pain was in our silence. It almost made me wish da hadn't left – almost, before I remembered all the pain he put mama through. Pain that wasn't repeated until now, until the Jedi took my wonderful Sari away. I hate da, have done so for so long, and now I hate the Jedi too.

Yes, I hate them. It's that anger that is now stirring me to sit up, look around at the rainbow of colour and noise that fills the classroom. I feel my pain, crystal clear like a knife sawing on my mind, cold as ice as it freezes me into inaction. But now I also feel the hot, slow flush of anger burning through me, melting that sorrow. They shouldn't have taken my sister.

I want my revenge.

iI don't know if I'm going to write any more – want to know what happens next? Let me know and I'll think about it. Otherwise it'll stay as a one shot./i