Ink.

When life gets hard add to the list. But under ANY circumstances do you ever erase from that list. It is precious; the list is your lifeline. In fact, your very own blood is the ink scrawling out onto the page. No matter what anybody says, you stick to it and treat it as though it is your own personal bible because one day, that list will be all that is left of Isabelle Karter. Me; you. If not, sooner or later, it will be your story getting inked out.

• • •
- A/N THIS IS COPYRIGHT ALL RIGHTS RESERVED THANK YOU :) x x x-

Isabelle Norton Karter; I.N.K; Ink.

Nathen said he always found it a coincidence how my name related blood. Said it proved my destiny. I wouldn't call it a destiny. Far from understanding other teenager's thoughts but not destiny. Destiny is meeting a man, winning the lottery. Not this.

Neither is it a curse. Curses don't exist with the gift of life just as fire cannot exist without water.

My life? Mum; dead. Dad; dead. Don't cry for me- you're not really upset, you're curious. How did they die? Who takes care of you? Firstly, I take care of myself as it's easier that way and secondly, I don't know. I do know but I don't. Missing aeroplane some years back- they were in it. Both of them sat side by side ready for me.

Me. Isabelle Norton Karter.

Where I am I don't have a name. Too much to remember. Instead I'm a number. Number 2201. I don't like it. Prefer I.N.K but as i said, letters only confuse.

You think I'm strange. Wondering whether or not you should stop paying attention. Go ahead; it's the easier option. Go talk to your friends about the new kid at school. The strange one who never so much as talks let alone 'plays' with people. Because although you hate school you will never feel the lothe I have for it- EVER.

This very thing has destroyed me. Destroyed my destiny, my being. I shouldn't be here. I have to be where I was because although I hated my number so much I was where I was supposed to be. I need that list to be shoved in my face and somebody to spit the words out as I am told what to do. Because it may have taken me time to realise this but if I am not the one completing the list, I am the list. My name has been scratched out onto that rough paper and sent to another number to do the job. My job.

Instead I am here: Kingston Secondary School, London. But my mind will be far from homework, teachers and friends. My mind will be focussed on the job at hand: regaining that list before it regains me.

• • •

Usually their slight sniggers and snobby remarks didn't touch me. Today they did.

"Don't you ever just shut your gob?"

The highschoolers stand there, shocked, like two young deers caught in headlights.

"I did ask you a question- do you?"

More boggle eyed stares. I roll my eyes and frown before smiling.

"Or maybe you refer to it as something different? Piehole, cakehole, yap? Or I heard some call it a mug."

The last thing I needed right now was a teen's midlife crises and this is what these two stupid girls were digging for- I weak, innocent new 15 year old at 'highschool' to be humiliated. Idiots.

That was what most of my set consisted of: idiots. I would call myself an A grade student but that would be lying. I haven't even been to school before. In fact, this is my third week at Kingston Secondary if you minus the fact I started half way through the first week.

"Well then, if I were you I'd shut my mug before one of you gets hydrochloric acid down your front."

Still nothing.

"Besides, it would be a shame to ruin that lovely blouse of yours. White so totally suits you."

I flash one last innocent smile before turning back to my science experiment. That ought to teach them.

"Ok then class I'm afraid that's it. Put all the test tubes away and make sure the benches are mopped up of any acid!" Mr Harris says, trying to capture the attention of a couple of boys pratting around in the corner.

I put away my things and write down my results in my book absent mindly and scoot all my things together just as the bell goes.

"And don't forget," rushes Mr Harris, "I want your results recorded in a graph for homework with the relationship betwe-"

The classroom's empty.

Steering through the hallway, I quickly grab hold of my P.E kit off a hook before striding along to my next lesson. Physical Education isn't anything I really needed to worry about. Well to be honest school isn't anything I worry about either. It's just a passing cloud in the big big sky. However my sky has decreased in size. The jobs I was once entitled to have been cruley stolen away from me and I know I have to get them back before my life ends. I already know how much danger my life is in.

Getting changed for P.E is a doddle due to my skills to get dressed and undressed under 20 seconds straight however other girls just look at me funny as they un button their shirts, revealing all sorts of underwear. Most have lacey braas (usually a black or vibrant pink) whereas others seem to still be stuck in their baby stage of knickers with days of the week printed on them.

I do tend to get carried away in thought sometimes which stresses me out. It proves that my Uncle Nathen could quite possibly be right about me needing to be a normal teenage girl rather than doing my job. But that is most definatly not the case. I am a strong minded young girl with the power to shoot somebody from a range of 30 feet with her eyes closed. Those facts have a tendancy to slip out in conversation at times.

"Ok then girls, when we're ready and you've all got your hair tied up we can set off to do the 1500 metres!" Miss Hutson, our P.E teacher, says- attempting to make the occasion sound joyful but the sound of groans proving her failure.

An amusing thought occurs to me at that moment and I can't help but smile to myself.

They think that's hard? Try being an assasin.