• Motionless; lifeless; racing. That black leather lounge was all she ever knew. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the lifeless piece of furniture which situated itself in the middle of the large room, ultimately making her the unseen centre of attention.

    They moved past her with their heads held high and eyes on the other end of the conversation, barely taking a side glance her way as if she wasn't one of their own. Gaining the slightest amount of hope as they seemed to be walking her way, she just as quickly discarded that extra half a heart beat and once again placed it in her back pocket. Did they know? Of course they did, how could they not? Beginning to feel paranoid she quickly jolted up from the sticky leather lounge which, eventually will give her bad posture, and escaped to the bathroom where she was truly alone.

    Using both her hands she slowly pushed the heavy white wooden door shut and made her way over to the white sink. The black and white tiled walls confining her created a contradictory sense of equality as she looked at her reflection in the mirror and felt, ultimately, inequality. The first thing she notices when looking at herself in the mirror are the marks on her face. She often wondered if what is seen on the outside is a reflection of what's buried deep on the inside, in which case her inner turmoil is on public display. Her right hand begins to tremor as her heavy arm slowly fights against gravity, lifting itself to the cool, thin surface which possesses her reflection she wished she didn't have. As she glided her fingers over her mirrored forehead, making her way down her face, she closes her eyes in agony. She can feel it. She can feel the warmth of her hand brushing over her cool, creased face. She can feel the dejection. She can feel the disparity.

    She sits in the foetal position half way between the white and black square tiles she allocated herself two years ago and sunk her head deep between her knees. The limited amount of air available begins to decrease and she struggles to inhale, all the while she somehow thinks she deserves it. The sudden feeling of claustrophobia overwhelms her and she jolts up in front of the mirror once more, looking at what she wishes not to see. She panics. Suddenly, three loud bangs on the hard white wooden door echo through the room. The belting echoes trigger memories of past events. Memories of misplacement and insecurities, of being the lost soul everyone left till last, like spilt water you neglect on the floor in hope someone will clean up. Over time she had adapted to this treatment, however even though she had accepted the fact she was a piece of the wider societal puzzle that cannot be placed, she had not accepted herself.

    She ignored the extrinsic distractions surrounding her and stared deeply into her mirrored eyes. It was as if she was searching for something; anything to replace the hollowness she witnessed in her eyes and the rhythmic thumping inside her sinking to her feet. Momentarily, she recoiled from the sink and held herself tighter than ever before. Rocking herself back and forth in attempt to reassure herself, she continues to fight to ignore the consecutive thumping on the other side of the door. The deep, pounding sound waves drill deep down through her ears to her toes, giving her such an overwhelming sensation, it makes her feel as if she is not even inside of her own self anymore.

    This feeling has taken over her. She enters a state of such high anxiety that her thoughts turn into something other than her own; her actions follow. She picks up the nearby black sponge and stares at it for several moments, pausing in distress. This just won’t do. Replacing it with a white one, she lathered her arm in soap, scrubbing with such great force that it started to tear her skin. She began to weep in desperation for everything to be ridden of everything that she was. She wanted to be the same as her adoptive blood. She wanted new skin.