Being Someone in the Starlight

One

If eyes were the window to the soul, why did mine seem so empty?

Grey, pale, never showing any emotions, did I even have any anymore? Or had they vanished along with my—

It wasn't like it mattered, really. Even as I stared into my reflection for this, it didn't matter what I thought about my eyes. They were there, I could see, I prayed that would never change, although it'd be nice I stop seeing his face every time I woke up and opened my eyes.

But I would get by. Life would I go on with or without me.

Just screw every single thing that voice inside of my head had told me up until then. It didn't matter, it didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

I didn't bother to brush my hair; again, it didn't matter, the tresses tightly curled to the point where brushing it made it my auburn hair look worse, not to mention it would take forever to get the knots out in this ass-length hair when I was already running behind.

Viola was going to club me to death with her book bag, I ran late again (this would be more than the twelfth night this month).

A white mist surrounded me, not out of the ordinary. In this town, fog was common. Something about the disorienting white that covered and crept into everything I knew until it was unrecognizable was somewhat... satisfying. Like I had finally left, was finally free.

Oh, the thought of leaving this place more boring than the White Room of Insanity was something that, if he ever caught me entertaining the idea, would get him to kick me in said White Room of Insanity.

It was like a separate location from this quiet town. I wanted to leave, yes, but I had nothing against the town nor it's inhabitants.

But the mere thought of being locked into that dull, boring, windowless room with no chance of escaping for days made my skin crawl, my heart pound, breathing hitch, because I had something against that room and it's inhabitants.

Because I was that inhabitant.

I could see the outline of my friend now; I had to look down to be able to see her face, but there was Viola, arms crossed and I knew her legs would be crossed too if she could still move them, but they remained limp on the wheelchair, unmoving.

Her long, perfectly straight hair was a dark black in color like her eyes. Any movement of the head made it ripple like a waterfall of ink. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were rosy, she donned a purple hoodie and cargo pants. She looked beautiful and so pissed.

"Hey," I greeted.

"Finally," she sighed. "I didn't think you'd ever show up."

I flushed. "I didn't take that long, did I?"

Viola nodded as if to say yeah, you did, you moron.

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

She gave a light smile. "It's okay, I'm just glad I got to see you—"

My phone rang and I had to answer i—it was my father.

And I had to leave without conversing with my best friend who looked outraged while I ditched her.

Now I really had to try not to emote for a change.