I stood by the mirror. My own face stared back at me, yet I barely recognised the girl before me. 

Her face was thin, thinner than mine, but the cheeks puffed out more. The mouth was downturned in what seemed like a permanent frown, and her eyes were overflowing with hurt and anger and pain. They were red-rimmed and framed by dark bags. 

I bit my lip, and the girl copied. I turned my head to the side, looking at the way her hair swung into her eyes. Into my eyes. 

The girl was me, yet she wasn't. This girl didn't have a brother. This girl wasn't eating, viewing food as a luxury she wasn't allowed. Why should she eat when her brother and father was no longer able to? 

This girl wasn't living, not really. She was either sitting in her room, thinking about nothing, or thinking about suicide. What was the point? We're all going to die anyway. Better to get it out of the way now. 

I rested my hands on the edge of the sink, letting my head drop. My hair fell in front of my eyes again, brushing against my lashes, and I suddenly just wanted to be away. 

Gone. 

Red consumed my vision as I stormed out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. I ripped open a drawer, then another, before grabbing what I wanted and heading back into the bathroom. I held the scissors to my wrist, staring at my reflection as if daring myself to do it. 

Go on, a voice dared. Do it. No one will miss you. Matt was always the better one. You can be with him if you do it. 

I pressed the metal harder to my skin, so hard that I saw a drop of blood well up, and then the red changed to black and I saw Matt's face swim in front of me. 

He...he wouldn't want me to do this. 

I screamed, the first noise I had made since the day the cop had told us. I pulled the blade away from my skin and held it up to the mirror. The bare lightbulb reflected on the shiny metal, causing a rainbow to flash across the room and settle on my hair. 

I let my gaze rest on my hair, and I felt the red return. With one hand holding a lock in place, I held the scissors and inhaled sharply, then let the two blades close. 

A loud snip sounded as the lock of hair fell limp in my hand. I watched it fall into the sink as my hand unclenched, and then grabbed another handful and repeated the process. 

After what seemed like hours but could only have been 10 minutes, the sink was full of soft, fluffy dark blonde hair. I didn't dare look into the mirror. Who was going to be looking back at me? It certainly wasn't going to be Katie Holt. 

I took in a shuddering breath and dragged my gaze upwards. My reflection's hair was the same colour as mine, not that it would have changed, but it looked so different. Where Katie's hair was long and straight, this girl's hair was short, and the sides stuck outwards at the sides, like without all of the extra weight it decided to float outwards. 

No, this girl was not Katie. 

I studied myself, and a memory flashed in her mind. 

"Look!" six-year-old Katie yelled, tugging on her brother's arm. 

Matt looked down, eyebrow raised. "What is it?" he asked, smiling. 

The golden brown leaves littered the ground around them, some still stubbornly clinging to various branches, refusing to make way for winter. 

Katie pointed to a tree. "It's a bird!" She always got excited about birds. They fascinated her. 

Matt laughed. '"Yes, it is. Do you know what kind?" K

atie chewed on her lip, thinking as they stood on the path. "A...a pidge?" 

Matt shook his head, his woollen hat almost falling off his head at the precarious way it was balanced. "Not quite." 

Katie scowled at him. "It is! A pidge! Pidge, pidge, pidge!" 

Matt grinned. "It's a pidgeon, Katie." He knelt down in front of her. 

"You, however, remind me of a pidge." Katie whacked his shoulder. "Don't call me that!" 

The memory sank back to the recesses of my mind, and I watched as the girl in the mirror sniffed, and a single, lonely tear rolled down her cheek. I bit my lip, but more tears fell, and soon I was curled up on the floor, sobbing. It was too much. The pain, the loneliness, the feeling that something was missing. 

After hours the tears stopped, and I stood up once again. Determined that I would no longer cry about this, about anything, I turned to face my reflection. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she stared resiliently back at me. There was something new in her eyes, something stronger. And suddenly she had a name. I had a name, for I was no longer Katie. 

No, I was now Pidge.