New Day, new school year. Same school, same classmates, same rules, same habits, same feelings. Everything is the same. But maybe, just maybe, if I'm hopeful enough there might just be... hope, I hope.

Staring into the mirror, I see a young girl with long brown hair, and beautiful green eyes filled with tears. It's a sight I have grown rather familiar with over the years that passed. And yet, I do not know the girl staring back at me. This is not who I am, This is not, and will never be my choice. It is a facade, a way to blend in and avoid being noticed for the wrong reasons. Cause let's be honest, no one would want to be friends with me, no one would like an odd monster to be their friend.

I am unusual, too different, anything that is different does not belong in this world of uniformity. Whatever happens, no one can find out how divergent I am. To survive, you have to blend in, change, and obey society's rules. It isn't fair. But then again, when was life ever fair? Some people have way more than they'll ever need, yet others can't afford food. No one ever asks the latter how they feel, they just blame it on the grades they used to get in school. That's just how the world works I guess.

The fact that our futures are determined by our grades and behavior from the second we set foot inside a school for the first time, has never sat right with me. What if I don't want to go with the future they have planned for? Then again, no one else has ever complained. But why would they? The government is never wrong.

Since young we have been taught that difference is an illness, something wrong with our brains. It needs to be fixed, but most don't make it back from their surgical procedure. Well, not sane at least. In the end, they still get killed cause they get declared 'incurable'. Sometimes I wonder if we are not already in Hell, Hell can't be worse than this.

My alarm blares, jolting me back to reality. Only ten minutes left before the school bus arrives. I rush through my morning routine, applying makeup and dressing in clothes that don't feel right, but I have to wear. Just like every other girl.

It's Monday, which means every girl has to wear yellow. Blond-haired girls wear high ponytails, brown-haired girls like me leave their hair loose, and redheads braid theirs back. Even our hairstyles aren't our choice anymore.

Boys wear blue suits with white T-shirts and yellow neckties. I hate the color code. As if fitting in weren't hard enough, they impose this additional layer of control. They must despise us.

From my window, I see the bus turning into my street. I have to run. For the first time this school year, I dash down the stairs. Hurriedly put on my Mary Janes, grabbed my bag, and closed the door behind me. I sprint to the bus stop, praying I'm not too late.

It's my lucky day. I arrive just seconds before the bus. Out of breath, I board and join my schoolmates.

"Did you have to run again, Louise?" The bus driver is a nice woman with a voice that sounds like a hungry kitten.

"Yes, Madam." One of the many rules: always be polite and speak in complete sentences, especially to those older than you, even if it's just by a year.

I sit down next to a girl I don't know, I do not want nor need to know her. The fewer that know me, the less chance I have of getting caught, the fewer people I will disappoint, And the less I need to feel guilty about being a monster.