GLITCH

CHAPTER ONE

"Wear your black with pride."

Those were the words I grew up on, the words that defined my very existence. I believed those words with my heart and soul; the entirety of my being.

"Shave your hair as often as possible, don't draw attention to yourself."

I held these words close to my heart and throughout my childhood, I had no fashionable hairstyle. It was the will of the one who dictated everything else I did; the sole ruler. I never had a reason to doubt the authority over me; it was absolute. I grew up on laws and precepts but the only difference is that I never felt pressured to do anything. I wasn't forced or even cajoled. It was the only reality I knew, the only reality I accepted. I was black to the tip of my toes but even though everybody around me was White or at least pretended to be, I wasn't perturbed. The ruler directed my steps, told me what to eat and how to eat it.

I walked with a slight limp but it didn't matter. My hair was unkempt as I stared at the only mirror I'd ever had. The clothes I wore were fraying at the edges, specks of dried spittle, blood and sand caking the edges. My hair was matted together, too scattered to even be considered comb worthy. Even though I was 16, I felt more like 95. I hadn't shaved my hair in over three months and I knew that they'd be hell to pay if I was ever discovered. I hated the state I was in but there was nothing I could do about it, I had nobody to blame but myself.

"Lose not the precepts upon which you were formed, lose not your mind in the process of keeping them."

Those words pounded in my head as I stared at the mirror, a small smile playing at the edge of my lips. I knew that the White ones were real, even though I'd never seen them before. They were like myths, tall tales told to make little children look on in wonder and envy. But deep down, I knew they existed, I could taste it on my blood filled mouth, bitting down on my tongue till red filled my mouth. It wasn't the first time I did it, it wasn't going to be the last either. It was the only way to avoid conversation, the only way I know how to evade, albeit not as beautiful as I wished. I was a huge fan of beauty, I wanted to exude grace and effortless beauty like the Whites were supposed to.

I was one of the ugly ones, my eyes too big for my face, my lips too uneven. The sight of my perfect nose made me wish to break the mirror all over again, but I'd only destroy the only means to remind myself of a thousand reasons to hate myself. The reminder was the only beautiful thing my mind executed flawlessly, a carefully timed blow to my self esteem. The mirror was a reminder, a reminder of the girl I wished to die, my worst enemy.

"Mavery, it is today." I heard the voice of my mother from the doorway. She had those wide eyes as she stared at me, the bags underneath her eyes looks huge enough to carry groceries. Not like we ever got groceries, but you get it. She had those soft eyes that spoke volumes, her face was wrinkled from the endless work routine she was given. The Brown weren't merciful, they worked us to death. The Blacks were known as infidels, specks of dust to the rest of the world. We were the separated ones, the ones rated as the lowliest of all.

Ever since I was born, we'd been separated into colours. It was a hierarchal system and we were treated according to our place in the hierarchy. The Whites comes first, they always do. The Grey follow. Then the Green. The Brown, and lastly, the Black. The Whites were thought to be a myth as only rumors of them had ever been heard. The Brown and Black populated the poor sector but the only difference was, the Blacks were poorer.

Now, among the poor, we were at the lowest rung of the ladder. In other words, if you were poorer than us, you have no business existing. My name was Mavery and I hated it from the depths of my soul. It's as old as the mindset of the one who gave it to me, a name that's so old, it's considered obsolete. The meaning... "Undecided."