A Truthful Lie

Prologue

"Charlotte!" I turn my head to see who has just called my name. There are so many heads crowding the small hallways of Medinton High school. Unfortunately all of them look familiar to me. "Charlotte," it calls again. I skim the crowd again looking for the person. Then a small hand emerges from the bustle, below that, just barely visible is a head. Covering the top is a full head of deep brown hair. Hazel eyes a button nose and cotton candy colour lips finish the pretty picture of Lauren Middingfield.

I watch her begin to push through the students. She nudges and disturbs everyone with her boney little elbows before showing up about a foot away from me. I sigh. Lauren is a good friend, or so she pretends to be. She's got a big heart for herself and being a ruler of the school. Unfortunately she had to settle for assistant because being at the top is my job. At least, at school it is.

"You're coming to practise tonight, right?" she asks, bobbing her head up and down vigorously. She won't stop, and it's starting to bug me. I paste on the fakest, but most believing smile I can conjure up, and trying to sound peppy say, "of course, Lauren, why would I miss it. It is my team, right. What kind of captain would I be if I didn't even show up to my own practise?" She smiles with me, a sickenly fake smile. A smile that in my eyes, says, 'Charlotte, you can pretend to be so perfect as much as you want, but I will destroy you.'

The tardy bells goes, and I watch Lauren jump back into the now thinning crowd of students and make her way to her next class. I take a look around me. At the opened locker door, and the pretty pink contents filling it. I see the pretty reflection of myself in the mirror hanging on the inside, and the post-it notes stuck underneath reminding me of a test or a special date coming up. I look down at the red and white uniform I'm wearing. Its skirt is short, ending about halfway down my thigh leaving my tanned legs bare. The shirt's hem is sewn to create a 'v' shape in the front and back, showing off just a bit of my sides, and the neck line isn't too deep, but still shows off a bit of cleavage.

I look at the tiny white rabbit placed just below the tip of the neck line, symbolizing the school team. I look over myself, and see nothing but a girl trapped in someone else's body.

I'm late again, naturally. It seems like everyday I'm always late for something. I walk into my third period history class. The teacher eyes me disapprovingly, gives me an indescribable sound, perhaps you could categorize it as a grunt, and turns back to the board where she was vigorously writing about the French revolution.

Sometimes I wonder what the point of school is. They teach you to sit in class and listen to some kind of an adult go on about stuff that's happened so many years ago.

Shouldn't they be teaching us how to do our taxes, or how to find a job or how to marry rich so you don't have to work at all? All I'm saying, is that would be a much easier lesson to sit through then some old lady telling us about another old lady who now lay buried under seven feet of dirt with a arched shape stone placed on top so the world can know who exactly is rotting in that specific bit of ground. I take my seat in the back.

I look at my surroundings. I see faces I've clearly known for years, but none of them look familiar. None of them look to be who they say they really are. Soon I find their features blurring, like I had been looking at them for too long and my eyes could no longer focus. Everyone was like that. Everything was becoming unclear. Soon the entire room looked like it was merging into one thing, and then it was like someone just off all the light in the world with one big universal switch.

Then, like I was watching a deck of flash cards, pictures began whizzing through right in front of my face. A boy lingered on one, with dark brown hair and eyes the color of gold. The next, a black rose with petals filled in so much that they dripped perfect black teardrops right off the tips. The last one, it lay burned and seared into my memory, could not be described using details of depth. All that lay on the card was blood.

"Charlotte!" The high pitched voice coming from the girl next to me jolted me awake. It reluctantly pulled me out of my uncanny but very frightening nightmare, "Charlotte get your head in it. Where are you?" I racked my mind for an answer, any answer, even the smallest of ones to satisfy her, " I don't know," I said.