She's here...

"You're so pale! Are you sick? Are you poorly?  Hah! It's just your bland skin colour!" Roxanne called out, teased and poked me in the ribs, sneering when she saw me grimace. "What's that? You gonna cry? Oh my.. get Leah babie's mommy..." Melaine, Roxanne's left hand man, spat out. they all burst out laughing, including the bystanders. Laughing and jeering. At me.

I turned to walk away, but was caught by a gloved hand "Where d'you think you're going?" Nicki, another one of Roxanne's gang members, sneered at me, then pushed her pointed finger-nails into my flesh. "Don't!" I screamed, White dots appearing, blurring my vision; the pain suddenly blinding me.

"Oh, so you can speak?!" Roxanne laughed wildly, her curls bouncing on her bony shoulders and her whole body trembling with the sudden outbreak. Roxanne. The prettiest girl in the school with the darkest heart. Why is that always the pretty girls are either stupid or evil? Nicki and Melaine. They're no different.

I pulled my arm out of Nicki's grasp and ran. Ran for what my life was worth. Because i knew that I'd pay back for it the next day. I faintly heard them chanting 'ghost face' over the sound of my blood being pumped around my ears. As i ran, I remembered...

Two months. Two months of moving into Sierra Leone, and two endless months of teasin, beating and torture. Because I'm white. All because my skin is light. I remember a teacher telling me that this sort of behaviour was called 'prejudice', but what does it matter? It's not like naming this sort of torture would bring an end to it... It never would...

My family get the same treatment. My little sister, Amelie, would come home from school with a split lip or broken finger. I think it's different for my parent's; not as obvious. They porbably get discriminated against too... just not so noticeably, smaller things. We don't complain; never have. We're just supposed to be grateful for being able to live here, away from Argentina where the war has broken out and destroyed our home.

We'd never utter a word in protest, not when they're chanting, calling us racist names, not when they're beating us, blood dripping down our faces. No. Never. Not us. Our script has already been written for us, we just play the roles. No if's or but's.

But I've written my own script. The rules are different, I've had enough. It's their turn to pay. My turn to be the audience... and watch.

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I wake up in the morning, feeling dread. Feeling scared, like I'm prey, and some predator is after me. Today we're going camping, i have to go. Have no choice. Worth more than half of my geography grade. But tonight, well, tonight they'll find out what it's like to be me. Every single one of them. Starting with Roxanne and her friends. I suddenly feel a lot better as i'm dressing. I smile at my own clever thinking. Tonight...

The camping site was boring, damp and quiet alone in the world. It was in the middle of wilderness. Perfect. Groups of 6 girls had to share a cabin each, before i could utter a word, Roxanne and a couple of her friends jumped to my side and pretended to be my friend, getting me to be in the same cabin as them... probably thinking that they could torture me all night. Hahaha. We'll see about that...

After endless hours of pointless activities, we were allowed to go have dinner outside, by the camp. The night's shadows made the place look even more scrarier; creepy even. Some girls were already getting scared, i could see the fear starting to show on their faces.

I stood in the shadows, waiting for the last girl to walk into the cabin. The footsteps enterred. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

Roxanne turned, alarmed and started yelling at Chloe for slamming the door. Chloe insisted that it wasn't her. Then they all went silent. Their eyes attracted to the dark shadow in the corner of the room...

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The glint in her eyes; oh the sweet, sweet taste of their fear on my taste-buds. Now they know. Now they undertsand how I felt every waking hour for the past two months. Now they understand; but it's too late... Now in my script, we change places. I'm not white. I'm not Leah. I don't know who i am. They made me who i am...

The lights shut off... Darkness. The screams of five girls errupt, disturbing the night. Screaming.

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It is said that Leah lives amongst us, standing and watching in places you least expect her to be. In the reflection of your own pupil, engraved upon the expression of every child who had been treated like Leah. She waits. As silent as ever, waiting to teach them a lesson; to remind. She's here. If you don't believe me then don't. But the next time you look into the mirror, don't look into your eye. it show's her real reflection....

By: Monika Zilionyte

age:14