Chapter 1
I slam my locker closed, the keys rattling against the candy coloured door. i stuff a few different text books into my back-pack, maths, biology, history, the list goes on. Trying to seem only interested in the door of my locker i reach blindly for the zip on my bag, which i have rested between the metal door and my knee. its uncomfortable, most people have been through being the new kid, i can almost feel their gaze scratching painful at the back of my neck, going through the thin layer of my black jumper. i shake it off, they can't even see my face, what do i have to worry about. Different cliques of strangely dressed teens stream through, sticking close to their friends, laughing at the less fortunate, not caring. Soon i am shuffling through the crowds of people, not worrying if i bump into a random figure, they won't remember me. sure they will never forget my sisters face, no matter how much we try to stay in the shadows, she is just the kind of person you want to trust. but do i ever get noticed? no, i just blend in with the rest of the outcasts, only noticed when someone wants to pick on someone, or when my sister decides to show up for anything. yeah, only seen as an accessory, nothing more that a measly hair clip.
i tuck my hands neatly into my pocket, trying to avoid any attention, i mean who wouldn't stare at the weirdo girl with a hoodie. Either way, i just try to act as if i have been here, in this unusual place, all my life. The pulleys hanging from the base of my neck draw my attention, and for just a moment i can block out the world, no noise, no overly powered sense of smell, nothing drawing your every attention, just a useless piece of metal with a solitary black background. i ball my fists carefully inside the pockets of my jumper, i smile, only wishing that i could really have some friends and not be running all my life, all i seem to care about now is that my face is hidden within the cocoon of a coal-black hood. not even the madly flickering lights can unmask my face. swift, moving among the sea of teens, like fish, a bait ball. I'm still keeping my gaze to the floor as i notice someone's footsteps matching mine, and from my judgment they are a couple to meters behind me. probably my sister, i haven't seen her since we got onto the school grounds. However, it's not like i haven't had my share of random people following me, who hasn't. i know my sister has had more of a problem with it, but she is Iola, im me.
i reach the corner, grinning to myself i spin on the ball of my foot, gaining enough power to speed up my walking a little. The footsteps i have honed into match mine, keeping up with me, maybe even a little faster. three. i pass another block of randomly coloured lockers. two. i push through another set of doors, using the toe of my shoe to keep the door from slamming shut in my face. One. i turn, my back falling so it leans against a poster on one of the many ply notice boards stuck up all around the corridors.
It takes me a second to set myself straight, i take in a deep breath, inhaling the scent. i feel my hands and neck throbbing increasingly. i suppress a bit of a growl. A scent trail intertwines with the hoard of pupils that are slowly trailing off into different classrooms. no one, they're gone. it's all a little confusing. i slip one hand from my pocket, quickly clenching it and unwinding my fingers to look at my palm. no veins, good. i barely have time to shove it back before i can feel someone tapping me on the shoulder.
"hey sis, you just gonna stand there?" i look to my left, seeing Iolas azure blue eyes searching for my face. honestly i don't feel like going anywhere, i just want to stand here, i don't want to face another school full to people i will have to ignore.
"maybe i should." its clear she didn't hear me when i am being ushered towards the cracked glossy blue class room door, the kind that has a tiny blurred window that serves no use. Iola pulls the door open, letting the previously contained chatter flood freely. i am almost driven to slamming the door behind me, but something tells me that wouldn't exactly be 'blending in'. i try not to look like i am following, but it's looking closer to Iola dragging me to the back of the room. "right, so i guess they don't really mean it when they say we are not meant to be the centre of attention." i whisper to her, surprisingly i manage to add in a little humour. i slump at my desk, somewhat happily with my hoodie hanging over my forehead my face still unrecognisable. my sister has always said it makes me look a little gothic, yeah and how many stereotypes could i come up with for her, blond blue eyes, only a few, but Goth doesn't even start it when i am concerned. my hands are finally out of my pockets and resting on the desk table thing in front of me. i position my hands so that the part joining my wrist can only be seen from where i am sitting.
"aren't we optimistic today? come on, at least try not to act all," she pauses thinking, luckily she is talking in a hushed whisper so that i can just hear what she is saying. "don't act all, gothic?" a slither of a hiccup giggle escapes, just before the teacher enters the room. i turn my focus to the front to the class, rather tiredly i wedge my hand under my chin causing my nose to escape into the light.
"hello, and aren't we exited to be at the start of a. brand. new. year." the teacher paces up and down the middle isles, firmly placing her palms onto my desk, I'm still staring off into the far distance. a little bruise of pain numbly flowers on my leg, it takes me a few seconds to blink myself back into consciousness before i realise Iola just kicked me. It's not as bad as the time she set fire to my jumper, but it still hurt.
"wait, what?" mumbling the teacher stairs at me obviously trying to see through my cleverly placed mask. i readjust my legs so that Iola can't get another clear shot at my shin.
"and we are glad to have some new pupils." he directs his gaze at me, although i doubt he can see that im still watching a fly on a pot of luminous pencils in the distance. "It's just a pity some of them were dressed by Goths this morning. take that thing off, or do you want to spend you first lunch familiarizing yourself with detention young-lady." secretly i give him defying smile, only just stopping myself from setting fire to his formal grey trousers, or maybe his greying peppery hair. his slightly aged face looking at me with venom. i haul my arms from the table, or that's what it feels like, and push back my hood. my fingers crack a little bit as i un tuck my hair from the back of my school shirt. i feel like saying something witty, like "happy now sir?" just to defy him, but the tiny, barely audible growl, from my sister makes me decide otherwise.
my hair is black, and falls to my ribcage, i watch the back of sirs head as he parades back to the front of the class. I close my eyes, the contact lenses feeling amazingly uncomfortable, but keeping my eyes a more natural grey colour, when in truth they are the brightest yellow.
That's when I turn to my sister, she's doodling in her book, her talent drawing. We could fit in, we may not be like them. We don't know our mother or father, or we did before they died, we live in care. That shouldn't matter. What really matters is...we're not human.
I'm tapping my pencil against the table rhythmically. For once something I own which isn't black. The rubber on the end bounces a little, comforting the sound, and making the teacher less likely to snap. To be honest I have no idea what he is talking about, his back is facing us, and he is drawing something in a green pen on the white board. The constant squeaking the only thing that remains. Form the boredom I have had plenty of time to look around the room, the walls are the same washed out yellow as in the hall, the carpet is an ashy grey colour, and laid down in neat, badly fitting, squares. There are enough tables in the centre to seat a class of thirty-two, and the outer edge of one of the walls is lined with a stretch of windows, and brown desks each with a turning chair blue chair. a row of eight aged macs, each with a growing coat of dust, rest on the tables, the rays of the sun making it amazingly easier to see the swirling mites. I cough, turning my head to see the clock at the back of the room, its cinder black hands jerking with every 'tick, tick'. I looks past the unnerving face like look of the object, seeing that we have only about ten minutes left of the lesson. But who in their right mind would make lessons two hours long anyway! And not only that, why only history?
I turn back in my seat, glad the teacher is still interested in the flashing lights on the board. I turn to look at Iola, her pale fingers still sketching out something in the little book she carries around with her everywhere.
We barely manage to get through the beginning of the day. My sister hides her boredom in her little sketch pad, while i constantly battle with the teachers on whether i should be allowed to wear my hood. most of them take no notice, they just mumble gibberish that i can see no one is listening to.
To be honest im pretty sure my sister hasn't been all "here" today. when she is sketching she is in another world. well that's what its like. From what i can recall, and that's not much, she has never let anyone see what she is drawing. I can say whether she is simply hiding her talent like we are told, or she is just to shy. One of them is probably more likely, but then i don't see why she never lets me look, i guess i will never know.
The ticking of yet another clock haunts me, i have no clue what the teacher is talking about, but yet again im not the only one not listening. Everyone else is slouched in there chairs, waiting with a few whispers, for the lunch bell to go.
Slowly i sneak my books back into my bag, and gradually close the zip. Slowly the seconds are counting down. My heart is beating dramatically shaking my chest. I can't bear being indoors, i just want to run. It's not natural to be inside this long.
Its an eternity of pulsing in my hands, and running my tongue over my teeth before i can even sit up straight. The clock teases me, and i can feel something trying to take over. Iola is persistent in kicking my shin, because i have shifted over in my chair, allowing her to get a clear hit. The small spikes of pain don't compare to being locked inside.
By the time the bell goes im pretty sure i will have a army of bruises covering the outer side of my left leg.
My pulse races sending ripples across my arms, tingling, and im pretty sure my eyes have gotten a little more bold under the lenses. The hand i have left on the table is laced with growing silver highlighted veins. My fingers click harshly into place, i clasp the sleeve on my jumper and tug it down over my hand. tick, tick. Claws are growing slowly in place of my nails. loosing there bitten edges, and becoming thicker, by a lot.
"Calm down!" my sisters poison tinted voice rasps at me in a shouted whisper. Lucky no one hears, or if they do don't bother to pay any attention. good, its better that way. I work my claws loose, steadily edging them out of the wooden tables grasp. I can feel my teeth loosing there uneven roundness, and becoming a little more sharp than i am accustom to. A false start. The bell shivers slightly on the wall after only letting out a short and shrill squeal. The few ears that caught the outburst slump back down into there seats. Waiting in there uncaring positions once again, I wait for the bell to sing its song of freedom. When it does i shoot out of my chair, it falls and clatters on the floor behind the desk. I can feel disapproving eyes boring into the back of my neck as i jump over the tables in a race for the exit.
AUTHORS NOTE*
OK, this is only rough, and I mean really rough. it needs a load of improvement. and I know that. im just gonna write it before I spend time with grammar and storylines and stuff. hope you understood it. plz review.