A/N; Just wanted to point out that all of my drabbles in this series will be completely unrelated, they are simply spawned from my insomnia driven mind so could really end up being about anything We Will Rock You related, some will no doubt be much worse than others, you have been warned :D

I wrote this quite a while ago and never actually managed to finish it, I was going to post it as a single one-shot but I've decided to split this one into two parts as I'm eager to know what everyone thinks of it so far. (Come on, feed my ego!) It's really the result of my own teenage angst and then an extremely bad night shift.

Sorry for this being such a long authors note, just a few more things and then you can read away! Apologies for not actually updating either of my fictions in so long, however the summer is upon us (though, like the virtual world there seemingly are no seasons in England) and I have a good month or so left of doing nothing, so look out for more updates.

Thank-you for being patient and thank-you for all the positive reviews so far and lastly We Will Rock You, unfortunately is not my creation.

Enjoy!

Do you ever wake up, look in the mirror and wish that you looked a different way? Perhaps you think, 'I'd like different hair,' or, 'If only I were thinner...' and then you make vague promises to yourself that you'll make changes. You'll style your hair differently, get it cut, dye it a different colour. When they ask you at the fast food diner, "Would you like to make that super-size?" you vow that you'll say no, that you'll opt for a diet coke and then perhaps even get off the tube a stop earlier and walk the rest of the way.

Of course, promises to oneself are usually broken. You learn to live with the way you look or even to appreciate that those mad spiral curls protruding from your scalp are what some girls would kill for. Or that the upturn at the end of your nose is what other people can only resort to surgery to achieve. Because, for all the bad days that you have, where you stare in the mirror and think, 'Holy hell, I'm ugly.' you also have your fair shares of looking in the mirror before you go out, after primping and preening and think, 'I don't look so bad...'

Not me though. Every day it's the same horrid thoughts, hammering at me, even when I can't catch a glimpse of my reflection. But then, I'm different. I always have been.

All the other girls at Virtual High look as if they just stepped straight out of a commercial for the Stepford life. Huge flashes of white teeth between their wide grins, perfectly tamed hair with their sunny delight highlights. Daz-white and freshly pressed uniforms, revealing their tiny waists and bronzed legs. I could go on for a while; after all, I've been staring at them for almost all of my life. Just wishing that at least one part of my body resembled their perfectly formed ones.

Short stumpy legs and pale skin, my bones poking out in odd places. I seem to be missing the gene that made all those girls a natural at styling their hair and applying their makeup, because I'll be damned if I can do anything to myself, without making my hair and face look a thousand times worse than it did before. It seems, the more I persist, the worse I look. So I've stuck to the same thing every day for a while now. Much to my parents and teachers displeasure. And much to the amusement of the other students.

I don't know why I chose to have purple hair. Not that it's what you'd call a 'proper' purple. It's sort of a... magenta. A deep, reddish- oh I'm not even going to try and explain. The only thing I know is it's the farthest colour away from what everyone else has. I just wanted to be different, without making myself look completely foolish. I wasn't prepared to go as far as dying my hair green to be different from them all. Of course, when my mother saw it she screamed. At first I wasn't sure what she was most distressed about. The state of my hair, or the fact that those packets of dye are rather tricky, so I'd managed to splash it around the bathroom quite a bit. It turned out the screaming was about the bathroom, for when she had a real good look at my hair, she burst into floods of tears.

"Oh what have you done? You stupid girl. Your beautiful hair... ruined!"

Where on earth she had got the beautiful part from, I don't know. Mousey brown is hardly what I'd describe as a beautiful colour.

If her reaction had been anything to go by, I should have already guessed the taunts that I would receive back at school. I'm sharp witted and if I'm only good with one thing, it's words. But what can you possibly say when you have five index fingers pointing in your direction and the cackles of five girls falling from their spiteful mouths? You don't half feel small and stupid when that happens, I'll tell you!

"It looks like you had a fight with a bottle of hair dye!"
"Yeah, and lost!"
"Maroon? That's so last millennium..."

"If you keep using that sunbed, people will start to think you were born last millennium-" I spat back at a particularly orange skinned girl, watching their perplexed faces as they tried to understand my insult.

I heard a low chuckle from behind me and turned around, but the figure had already passed the group. Catching sight of the back of a raven haired boy I smiled. At least someone here appreciated my humor.

"I've f-f-found it's easier just to insult them w-with four letter words." a stammering voice followed by another small chuckle, yet he still didn't turn around to face me, just continued to walk with his head bowed down. "It's p-pretty m-m-much all their brains can process."

It was my turn to laugh now, I wanted to shout something back that would make him turn around but it seemed my brain had crashed.

The Gagas had beaten me to it. "Hey G-g-g-Gordon!" they jeered, mocking his speech, "What are the voices saying today?"

Now was my chance to get away from them, while their attention was on someone else. We'd always been told at school that a bully wasn't just the person doing the taunting; it was whoever stood by and let it happen as well. So call me a bully. There was no chance I was hanging around waiting for them to come prowling my way again. Turning on my heel I scampered off, a little hopeful that the boy could stand his ground.

When I arrived home that day, it was to find my mother waiting for me. Her foot tapping an impatient beat on the floor as she stood, arms folded in the doorway, a firm scowl set into face. I immediately rolled my eyes when I saw her, barging past her and hurling my rucksack onto the floor I made to get upstairs as quickly as possible, tripping over my untied laces as I went.

"Get back here young lady." she barely even raised her voice, but the tone of it was enough to make me scowl and stamp my feet just that little bit harder as I climbed the stairs. "Downstairs. Now." her last word was almost a growl. Throwing my hands in the air, I turned around and stomped back down to where she stood.

"Yeah? What?!" I bit down onto the left side of my bottom lip and glared at her.

"The school called me at work today."

"Oh?" I blew my hair from my face in an offhand way, in my efforts to show just how little I cared.

"You won't be going in to your lessons tomorrow morning."

"Oh?" I couldn't help but sound a little intrigued this time. She was keeping me out of school? This was the best punishment I'd ever been given.

"Oh," she mimicked, "Let me put you straight now lady. You won't be going into lessons, because the school has called the two of us in to have a meeting with them. They want to discuss your behavior." she unfolded her arms and placed them firmly on her hips.

I screwed up my face and replied, "Blah-blah-bleeuggh!" moving my left hand childishly as if it were a mouth.

She surveyed me and arched an eyebrow. "I'd imagine, that is exactly why. Now you are to go and find something to wear and bring it down to me for ironing. Something smart that won't make your hair stand out so much. They were not pleased about that little trick of yours."

I shrugged my shoulders lazily and marched away from her, stamping an imaginary beat on the stairs. 'Thud-thud-stamp, thud-thud-stamp.' it repeated over and over in my head as I walked towards my room. I struggled to open the door, a pile of screwed up laundry blocking the entrance. Shoving my weight against it, it swung open, my clothes scattering across my bedroom floor. I gazed across the mess. For one day, I would be allowed to wear something other than that god awful school uniform. I was going to take full advantage of it.

Pulling my draws entirely out, I threw handfuls of clothes across my room until I finally found what I'd been looking for, the few items of black clothing that I owned. The only reason they had been downloaded in the first place had been because of a funeral. And as far as my mother was concerned, they had been thrown out a long time ago. A long sleeved black top and an ankle length skirt. I smirked as I removed them from the draw.

The slam of a door made me turn around quickly, only to see that my mother had barged her way into my room. She eyed the clothes that I held in my hands and blinked slowly, looking for some recognition of what they were and where they had come from. I held them up for her and gave a sly grin, waiting for her to react. Watching me she reached across slowly and took them from me, her gaze not leaving mine. She turned slowly on her heel and left my room. I'd expected her to shout at least. Scream that I shouldn't even still own those items of clothing. Insist that I pick out something else.

I followed her from my room into hers and watched her closely. She moved swiftly, the top and the skirt hung limply over her arm as she made her way towards her dressing table. She opened a draw and pushed a shaking hand into it, drawing out a pair of scissors. For one mad moment, I thought she was going to run at me with them. Thinking back on it now, it had probably been the reflection of the metal blades glinting in her eyes. But at the time, I was sure it was a flash of evil coming across her as she planned my death.

Taking the scissors she began to snip at my clothes, her face expressionless as they fell in pieces from her hands. I stood open mouthed watching her, my heart still thudding in my chest; a minute ago I had considered her capable of murder, now I had just come to the conclusion that she was a few pieces short of the full puzzle.

"Now you'll go and find something suitable to wear for tomorrow, or I'll pick something out for you myself." she looked up at me coolly and walked towards me, brushing past my shoulder as she left the room and made her way downstairs, a smug smile beginning to creep across the corners of her mouth. It was when I saw that smirk that I wanted to storm after her. Spin her around and tell her how sick I was of following her stupid Gaga rules and regime. Instead I picked up the torn clothes from the floor and took them towards my room. I had an idea that seemed much more satisfying and amusing than screaming at her.