Vibrancy rules the sky; tangerine mists melt into phantasmal clouds. Tendrils of scarlet are lost in a sea of copper and cobalt, creating a plethora of shades; vivid indigos and youthful lilacs. Soon, tenebrous black will dominate the sky, but for now, only the bright colours can be seen.
  I sit, floating adrift on a sea of thoughts. Reflections of my life create eerie patterns in my mind; too repetitive, too regular, it seems to me. The monotony of my activities bears down all around me, ensnaring me. I need excitement – but that is merely a side effect of the power that is control. Now the issue stands – how to gain the very thing that makes a point of evading me when I need it most?
  “Hi, Lola!” He sits down beside me, slightly late, as always.
  “Hey Jason. How are you?” I see the happiness contort his features. His demeanour is content, relaxed; even the knee that so often can be observed bobbing up and down so furiously is still. Joviality, normality permeates the air around him – it agitates me. Only one little cloud shades his thoughts; suspicions about that stupid girl of his. Such an inconsequential thing to think about yet it seems it is all people ever concern themselves with.
  “Oh, I’m good thanks!” As always, I think internally. “You?”
  “I’m decent.” I say. Without warning, an idea materialises in my head: two birds killed with one stone, so to speak. Often the simplest ideas are the most brilliant.
 
  I observe the person sitting next to me. Hair, ink-like, sheaths his head. His hands seem to never be still; they writhe constantly, like a small child’s. Then those eyes: a deep russet hue, so emotive, expressive, trustworthy – trusting.
   “Well, actually, I’m not that good.” I say.
   “Really? Why?” His face, always greatly expressive, falls slightly.  Always so full of emotion: the image overrides me -

“Lola, dear, can we talk to you?” She sits down, silently, opposite her parents.
  “To be frank, we’re worried-”
  “Owen!” A knowing glance is exchanged between the adults, whilst the young girl sits there, motionless, eyes conveying – nothing.
  “Okay ... we are just trying to say, we are not very –happy– with how you ... treat your brother.”
  “What?” Comes the unfaltering voice.
  “You know what we mean! You treat him like an anima-”
  “What your father is trying to say is that we are not happy with your behaviour at home, and your teachers have expressed this opinion too.”
   “And do you have any idea how much those stupid lense things you make us buy cost?”
   The woman’s eyes squint slightly. “Is everything alright, Lola?”
  A steely silence ensues. The girl’s mother reaches out to touch her daughter, but the girl flinches away. Frustration pushes at the self-constructed dam in the mother’s mind.
  “Bad things happen every day, mother.”
  “She can’t even call us Mum and Dad, Marie!” A sigh, like the tide, rolls out from the mother.
“Why can’t you be like your brother, your cousins, Veronica’s son, Jason? He’s such a sweet boy, so open. And Veronica is such a dear friend to us ... will you give it a try, honey? Can you be like those kids? Can you try to make a friend?
“Fine. I’ll do what you want.” The preteen says this flatly, quietly, directly. Unflinching.
“You’ll really try?”
“I said yes! I said yes! I said Yes!” she stood up in an instant and ran out of the room.
  “Why us? Couldn’t she just have been normal?” No one’s normal, thought the girl.
   “There’s news... it’s – it’s concerning you, actually.” I say, breaking from my reverie. Those big, trusting eyes. You should know better than this. Trust, love; they can only lead to pain. You, of all people, know that.
  His smooth facade is beginning to fray.
  “I saw Bianca-” A thread falls loose.
  “Yes?” Urgent tone. Unravelling.
  “Jason, I hate to be the one to tell you this but ... I saw her with someone else.” Unravelled.
  “Lola if you are lying to me–” No father, distant Mum, friends deserted him. Like rationality in panic: gone.
  “I’m here for you, okay?” I reach out but he jerks away, uncharacteristically.
  “No. I can’t take this. I just can’t do it! Everyone I trust, everyone I need, does this to me! What the hell have I done to deserve this?” Everybody has that deep-rooted, all-consuming insecurity, and once you discover what it is, the power is yours.
  “Jason... it will get better! Please, please see that this isn’t your fault! You have got to believe me...” Those emotions working well for you now? It’s so wrong; it’s so bad to not feel, isn’t it?
  “I have to ask her about this. I have to.”
  “That will only hurt you more.” I search his eyes with my own. He doesn’t see any real emotion in mine; only reflections of his own ... only what he needs to see. I find that it’s like that with most people.
  “Oh, Lola, I can’t stay here. I have to leave. If I see her, I – I don’t know what I’ll do.” You’re so much more intelligent than this. Just believe what I say, no questions asked? Come on, you know better than that. Insecurity – my own little diamond mine.
  I glance towards the sky, which is almost completely black at this point. Only a few stars dare to shine through.
 
  The light streams in, blinding my eyes. I stand up, push the confines of my duvet aside, and tread to the window, pulling the curtains together in one deft movement. I grab my dressing gown, slide it on, and pace to the ensuite. I look at myself in the mirrored glass of the cabinets.
  Dark brown hair of medium thickness frames a symmetrical face that is generally perceived well. Nose – straight, perfect size. Pink lips, thick eyelashes. Smooth skin – I take good care of it. Appearances matter. Then my eyes, the only truly distinct feature I possess; Heterochromic, one is the colour of thunderous clouds and the other is a deep jade colour, with little fragments, like broken glass, of grey scattered throughout. So every day, without fail, I place contact lenses of a nondescript brown hue on my eyes. A nondescript, trustworthy hue.

  Down the stairs I tread. Like I do, every morning. Not for long, I’ll be free soon.
  I grab myself a bowl of cereal and place it at the mahogany table. My parents sit at the sofa, a few metres away from the table. I eat slowly, deliberately.
  “How are you, sweetie?” Why bother with formalities? How many times has this very scenario played itself out? At least I am open about the fact that I don’t care about them. I choose not to answer – it is not necessary.
  “Any plans for the weekend?”
  “Do you lack the ability to ‘take a hint’?”
  “It’s called human interaction, Lola.” My mother sighs.
  “But it’s pointless, isn’t it? It has no benefits. I don’t know why you try when you don’t care.”
  “Well I don’t know why we even pretend there’s any normalcy here! I’m surprised you haven’t bloody left already! You’re 18, get a job! It’s obvious that her royal Highness isn’t interested in continuing her education so you know what, I’m sick of you leeching off everyone in this house; do you have any idea of the impact you have on your mother? Your brother?”
  “Owen, this isn’t the right time-”
  “What use is there in putting it off any longer? Lola, we’ve tried and tried and you obviously don’t care about anyone but number one ... we recognise your –differences– but you won’t-”
  “Lola, we love you but we can’t do this anymore. Live your life. Without us. We know you don’t care at all about us. Please, don’t draw this out any more than you have to.”
  “Goodbye, Lola.” Like sand through my fingers, all control is falling away, flitting away in the breeze. My veneer has been scraped off; the false colours wiped clean. They’ve taken my power.
  “You have done nothing for me. You have excluded me, you never understood me. You label me as wrong because I’m not like you. If I die, it’s your fault. You, truly, are evil.” Words brew up behind my father’s mouth but before they can escape, they are silenced. Violence is infantile and used only by the weak but ... that rush. It makes me have control of the situation – I have the power. I have the power to change lives and states of being and that feeling is truly, the most exhilarating I have ever felt.

  On my way out, I drop in to my brother’s room. He turns to face me when he hears the door creak open. In his bed he sits, doing nothing, it seems.
  “They always loved you more. Who knows, maybe they would have loved me if they had never had you to compare me to.”
  “What’s happening?” The question comes from the only person, over the course of my entire life, whom I ever respected.
  “Good luck.”

  I’ll never see any of them again.

  “Hey Jason, it’s Lola.”
  “I need to talk to you, Lola.”
  “Fine... meet me at the train station in 20 minutes.” The timing could not have been better.

  He was only ever an experiment. I learned from Jason, learned how to act around people. Learned to fake emotions from somebody who could never deny or hide theirs. He’s been useful, but I don’t need him anymore. He is a wrapper that I need to discard before I continue with my life. He knows too much. I hate that another person saw that side of me, the side that usually can be hidden with such fluent ease, at least in public.
  Jason. The boy who is so emotive, ‘friends’ with a person who can’t emote.

  “Hey, Jason!”
  “Don’t you dare speak to me like nothing happened!” Perfect.
  “You lied to me! You tried to ruin everything! You let me believe that you cared, that I had lost everything! I really believed you ... I believed you over her! How dare you lie to me like this?!” The morning is still young; only the everyday commuters surround us. No one seems to care about the teens verbally sparring in the corner.
  “I told you not to talk to her.”
  “You manipulative, selfish – Have you been doing this all these years?”
    I pause. “What colour are my eyes, Jason?”
  “I don’t give a d**n what colour your–”
  “Answer me. Now!”
  “Brown, okay, they’re brown! Happy now?” In a calculated movement, I pick off the contact lenses, and drop them on the grimy floor.
  “What the hell was that meant to prove? You’ve been tricking me? Oh, wow!” Chagrin bubbles up over the edge of his presence. Anger, pure, pricks at his skin – I know the feeling.
  “I hit her! I hit her...” His eyes sparkle. Poor you. You hit someone, what inner turmoil you must feel.
   I run to the toilets, knowing that he is on my heels. I barge inside, hoping that there is no one inside. There isn’t, apart from him. You played this perfectly.
  I run toward the wall, facing it. At the last minute, I turn around, him right behind me.

  The floor, a colour reminiscent of a dog’s teeth, is offset by vibrancy. Vivacious crimson streaks offer contrast.
  As I wash off the knife in the tiny little sinks, I feel a living presence behind me. I turn around to see a pair of wide eyes set deep in a pale, pale face. No sound escapes. Horror, complete horror.
  “Is Mummy outside?” Shudders are all I receive as a response.
  No witnesses. That would ruin everything. And I don’t have my contacts on; that makes me more identifiable.
  The second time is easier still... she doesn’t even struggle. She doesn’t even have time to wail.

  “Yes, we have those tickets available. What kind would you like?”
  “One ticket, no return.”
  “Thank you Miss. Have a great day. May I just say, what eyes you have ... never seen any quite like that!” The old lady chortles to herself.

  Sitting on the train, staring out of the window, watching ashen, drab buildings flash by, I dream of all the possibilities. Blood pounds in my head, the erratic rhythm strangely invigorating. Life courses through my veins, excitement fizzes all around me. Exhilaration is released with every breath. How can I ever top this high? That doesn’t matter for as long as I can stay in this moment, this beautiful, crazy, free moment. I need not think about what will come, but what each second holds. I have never felt this good.
  I have nothing left to lose.
  But everything to gain.
For the first time in years, I really, really smile.

A furtive glance at the dazzling, brilliant sky reminds me of one thing. As bright as the day is, the night will always be darker.