Nissa : New Year

Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Hermès.

The uniforms passing by fail to embody equality.

Inside and out.

Their muted colors pale in comparison to the opulent ornaments surrounding them. The initials WB, intricately embroidered in gold thread, though flawless, can't hold a candle to luxury jewelry.

Everyone sees it. Even me.

Each girls parade out, leaving the room. Their shoes click confidently down the hall, while mine drag reluctantly.

I fixate on the door ahead until a sudden flash blinds me, forcing me to look away.

My navy blue tie feels like a noose, despite me rubbing sweaty hands on the satin for twenty minutes.

Slowly, the line inches forward until I'm front and center, brushing against the ornate silver handle shaped like a serpent's head with bared fangs—a lever in disguise.

"I've been stuck with this damn tie for two years!"

"Quit whining. Imagine if you had the green one, it would only make your pale complexion worse."

"What did you say?"

One of the girls behind me grins, inserting herself between her friends.

"Red suits you perfectly, Aria! Don't mind her, this tie was made for you."

"That's the problem," she mutters, digging her nails into her palm until a trickle of blood appears on her fingertips.

Abruptly, she wipes her hand on her undone collar

"What are you doing?"

"What ? It's our 11th Grade school picture, we have to stand out!"

"Are you sure you weren't given the green one after all?"

"Say that again, and I'll-"

A voice interrupts from the door.

"Nissa Kartan!"

I straighten up in one swift motion, adjusting my navy blue vest over my chest. My heart skips a beat upon entering the brightly lit room.

A tousled-haired woman scans me, her gaze lingering on my neck, her expression hardening.

"An altruist, huh... Sit down! I don't have all day."

Near a mottled blue backdrop, I notice a small chair with a gleaming cushion. As I smooth my skirt and sit, I spot a faint hole in my tights.

"Are you going to smile, or will you continue to look like you're attending funerals ?"

The camera clicks, the stool creaks under me. The flash captures my mid-fall expression before I crash into the wall.

The photographer sighs, nodding towards the door. If she could, she'd kick me out.

New year.

New hell.