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Chapter One

I could feel it when I walked in the building, I wasn't wanted there. I had felt a sudden awareness of myself the moment I stepped across the threshold and the doors slammed shut behind me. I noticed how the brightly coloured tips of my light hair seemed to glow even more against the dull, greyed walls. I noticed how much my voice echoed throughout the halls, while everything else was silent. I noticed how different I felt in this environment and all I wanted was to run home and continue listening to my old tutor drone on and on about the history of the world. I shot a nervous glance towards my mother who just smiled in response as we continued down the corridor.

My feelings of displacement only grew when I found myself inside a small office area, filled with people eyeing me up and down. The looks of disapproval cast upon me were the reason my head stayed down. That was until one of the school officials yanked my chin up so I was staring directly at them and they were staring directly at me. The crowd gasped when they saw my eyes and my mother sighed.

Heterochromia was a curse I was born with. One blue eye, one green. It wasn't a subtle difference either, just walking down the street I would get funny looks. Everyone saw. How I wish I had been born a few hundred years ago, when a genetic defect like this would set someone apart in a good way. My history books tell of a time when everyone looked and acted different from one another, when different was good. It was described as a time of chaos filled with discrimination and sadness, but I think it could have been beautiful.

Mother always told me that my head was in the clouds. She said that I was foolish to even think of questioning the laws. She says that the titles are there for a reason, to help us all belong and keep the world at peace. I, like every other child, was taught from an early age how to determine where someone belonged. It was as simple as looking at them.

A person who is destined for a life filled with books and brains would have brown hair and brown eyes. The mark of intelligence. If you were to see someone walking down the street with red hair, and eyes the colour of emeralds, you can bet that they're creative. These people are the artists, the writers, the creators. The life of a person with black hair and grey eyes is about as dull as it sounds. The quiet people, working in stores and customer service fall into this clique.

"Verity!"

I snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of my name, returning to the room full of frowning faces. All of them, I noted, were brunette. What more could I expect from a school staff. A middle aged woman stepped forward, I believe she was the one who had called me back into the real world. She opened her mouth and I braced myself for yet another rejection - I told mother it was hopeless.

"After much consideration, we have decided that we have a place for you at this institution. However, if you wish to join us here, you must be aware that we have some very strict guidelines you will be required to follow. Do you understand?"

She paused, waiting for me to answer, but I was so shocked all I could do was nod, dumbstruck. She took this small gesture as a cue to continue.

"You must fix your hair, no more of those atrocious colours. A simple blonde will suffice. You will be put into dance and drama classes, along with courses on hair and makeup. This will prepare you for-"

"Could I take history as well, and perhaps a class on creative writing?"

I knew I shouldn't have interrupted but I was once told that if I didn't ask, the answer would always be no. Although, when I saw the appalled looks on the faces of the officials around me, I knew the answer was no anyway.

I wandered off into my own thoughts as I was lectured about my hair and its meaning, accompanied by the usual spiel about my destiny as a performer or a beauty queen. I mean, performing is great fun and I know my way around beauty products but I love stories too. I love hearing about how the world used to be, hundreds of years ago. I love the works of fiction created long ago, proposing extreme ideas of how the world may change for the worse. Occasionally I enjoy creating my own stories too, but I've never shown them to anyone. They mostly feature worlds where blondes can be writers, brunettes can be performers, things like that. People think I'm crazy to dream of a world any different to our own, but I can't help it. Without dreams, where is the beauty in life?

I sighed, remembering what my mother said about these thoughts, and focused on the woman before me again. After wrapping up that all too familiar speech, she droned on for a further half hour about the many rules and expectations. I was only half listening to the monotone voice talking at me. I've noticed that once brunettes reach a certain age, maybe thirty or forty years, they all seem to lose almost all emotion in their voices and everything becomes monotone. I suppose it's a slight side effect of the genetic coding. I wish they'd let me learn science. I'd love to know how the genetic coding process works, how they make us who we are, who we are supposed to be.

"Oh, and one more thing, Verity."

I turned all my attention back to where it was supposed to be. The official held a small card towards me and I took it slowly. Looking it over but not quite comprehending its meaning. It appeared to be some sort of business card for a costume store and I shot the official a questioning look.

"Its two blocks away from here, they can give you some contacts to fix up that eye. If you're going to be a part of our school community, you don't want to stick out."

I nodded, thanked them for their time and the offer, and headed out of the building, back into the brightness of the day outside. I turned to my mother, who was beaming down at me.

"Let's go to the costume store Verity," she squeaked in excitement, her typical fashion.

"We'll get your contacts, fix your hair and you might finally belong."

Belonging. The one principle considered key to our existence. The one thing I wanted above all else. The one thing I just couldn't quite reach.