Read All About It

First day of school

Jessie didn't want to go to school to be honest. He didn't mind it, but given the choice he would much rather stay home and sleep. Despite his bubbly personality he didn't really have too many good friends that really knew him. He looked at his backpack. Grey. Everything was. Black, grey, and white. He wouldn't care that he was colorblind as much if he didn't love art. He hated going to a museum and hear people gushing about the beautiful color choices. Hated not being able to join them. He looked in the mirror.

Today he felt more masculine, and decided to wear an Evanescence t shirt, jeans (that his mother assured him were light pink), and converse. His curly hair was still crazy from bed. He smiled at himself. Just because he couldn't see color didn't mean he couldn't be fashionable. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and jumped down the stairs taking two at a time. Despite not being a morning person he liked school itself well enough, art class was extremely enjoyable. He just didn't like the teachers.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head as he caught sight of his mother. She looks up as he comes downstairs, granted not quietly. "Morning  Jes,"  she smiles.
"Mornin" he replies already stuffing his face with the pancakes on the counter. He turns when he hears footsteps behind him. To see his father coming down the stairs. He waves, but his father just at glances at him eyes flickering to his "pink" jeans, before walking into the living room. Jessie frowns, but his mother sensing the situation distracts him.
"Are you excited for school?"
Jessie's face lights up at that. "Yup."
His mother smiles again. Tucking her curly hair behind her ear. "Well you should get eating or you're gonna miss the bus." Jessie grins stuffing his face with more pancakes.

Chanson HATED school. Everyone stared at him, and he could see them whispering to their friends... but he couldn't hear them. They apparently didn't know that he read lips. He stared at himself and sighed. To be honest, he didn't give a crap about his appearance. When people saw him they would either ignore him or stare. He was that kid that looked like a punk and intimidated people. Chanson didn't Want to scare people, he just couldn't express himself the way that others did. He especially hated it when he had music class and the teacher would ignore him, give him access to his phone, or generally ignore the fact that he wanted to watch everyone else or try himself. Even though he couldn't hear anything and didn't talk. He loved watching pianists' fingers fly across the keys. He would watch others reactions to the music and wanted to make it himself. Even if he couldn't enjoy it himself.

Chanson glared at himself. He was wearing grey skinny jeans, a dark blue shirt, black zip-up sweatshirt, sneakers, and his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He could see is grey eyes calculating himself in the mirror. He grumpily swung his door open to walk down the hallway of his one-story house. When he got to the living room he found is dad passed out on the couch, clearly exhausted from his job interview last night. Chanson just frowned and laid a heavy wool blanket over his dad. Then, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple. All well staring at the ceiling, thinking in the silence of his life.

Zale could remember the world. Not clearly, but enough. Enough to miss it. He could feel the cotton sheets underneath him. He groaned at the sound of his alarm, before grabbing towards the sound. He shut it off, then slid off of the bed. He has the layout of his house memorized, so he had no trouble as he walked toward his closet. As he opened it he went immediately to the section of his closet that has shirts. He felt the button ups ad sweaters before deciding on a polo shirt that he thought was blue. All of the clothes in his closet were either black, white, blue, grey or khakis. He put in on, before deciding on a pair of khakis. As he got dressed he played black swan, humming along to the music. Despite being blind since he was five due to a disease, Zale has always loved dancing and music. He could faintly remember what it was like to watch ballet dancers gracefully leaping across the stage. He frowned and ran a hand through his blonde hair, scratching at the undercut. He got dressed slightly swaying to the music, before approaching the stairs.

Before Zale even got downstairs he could smell bacon. He smiled . His parents knew he always got a little upset when he goes to school because he stands out like a soar thumb, and hated the pity and special treatment the teachers gave him. His dad was in the kitchen sitting at the table. He could hear his feet as he bounced his leg. He walked over and sat down just as his mom set plates on the table. "Good morning," She said, chipper as always.

"Morning," Zale responded trying to sound excited.

His dad apparently sensed the situation, because cut in with, " Your mom makes the best bacon." Zale's face lit up, as he dug in to his breakfast. His mom was sitting down at the table now. His dad started talking to his mom about something that happened at work. Zale, meanwhile, started daydreaming. Maybe this year will be different.

Charity hated everything. She hated school, she hated people, and she hated things in general. She stared at herself. Long blonde hair crazy from sleep. She was wearing black skinny jeans, Doc Martins, a dark grey crop top, and a leather jacket. Her golden eyes cold and thoughtful as she studied the room and herself. Charity wouldn't even go to school if her sister, Aika, didn't make her. It wasn't as if she didn't know everything.

She sighed through her nose, before trudging down the stairs. Aika was eating cereal on the couch watching TV looking up when she heard Charity's quiet footsteps. She waved her spoon at her and Charity half-smiled back. Aika was the only one who Charity really cares about, the only family she has left. Charity yawned as she opened the refrigerator and hung back putting all her weight in the handles.

She decided on yogurt and sat down at the counter. Aika knows that charity isn't fond of people talking to her if she doesn't want to, so she just kept eating and watching TV. Charity watched from the table. The 15 year old put her feet on the counter. Aika glanced at her and, doing a double-take made a sound of disagreement through her stuffed mouth, and motioned for charity to put her feet down. Charity poured at her which just made Aika smirk.

"You better hurry," she said. Calculating green eyes studying the slow pace as to which she was eating the yogurt. Charity pouted more but increased her pace slightly. Aika went back to eating her cereal but was watching charity now instead of the TV. She was always concerned about charity. Aika always knew what she was trying to say. After their parents died and Charity came home silent, Aika would speak for her when she couldn't express what she wanted to through sign language. She was always worried for her younger sister.

While Aika was lost in her thoughts, Charity finished her yogurt. She hopped off of the seat, grabbed her backpack off of the counter and put earbuds in her ears. Scrolling through her phone at the hundreds of songs she hoped to sing someday. "Hey," Aika called causing Charity to look around. "Have fun," Charity stared at her sister's slightly concerned eyes before nodding grinning and walking out of the house.