Lavender

•Prologue;

There's not much I could say about her when on a Tuesday morning, I was placed with Lavender White. Her hair was a different colour from the bottom down and reminded me of a holiday I once took with my parents to Cape Town. She was thin, petite. Her legs were covered with a pair of light blue jeans with rips on the thighs and knees, her full sleeved black top hugged her tiny waist. She wore boots made for soldiers and in between her delicate collar bones, was a purple amethyst. I don't know if she was a witch of some sort. People always said she gave off strange vibes. Her love for solidarity didn't exactly try and contradict that. I knew she had been around, seen her purple and blue hair. I always thought she had painted it with the paint box she carried around in her rucksack. What I didn't know was that I, Dominic Pounds, would be sat on my best friend's roof with her a week later. I never imagined I would lay on the cement floor and stare up at the stars, only to turn over and find myself to kiss her.

And her to kiss back.