The Girl With One Eye

I remember the day I met her. With her leather jacket, Dr. Martens and ripped dress she at first appeared to be what my father would usually refer to as a "ruffian." This image was only further enhanced by the frizzy, jet black hair that was failing to conceal the deep bruises visible down the left side of her face. But beyond the beauty and the ragged image there was beauty, that I was sure of. One thing I was less sure of was her familiarity. Her appearance had sparked off something in my memory, something I could not quite put my finger on.

But I could not deny her beauty. The cheek that was not discoloured by bruise was flushed pink; she must have gotten lost  not a difficult feat in this school. The one eye that wasn't swollen shut was fixed to the floor with the rest of her manner gave off a seemingly grumpy and uninterested vibe. But it was her hand that gave her away, at least to me; it shook ever so slightly so that it was noticeable only to someone really studying her physique. She was scared, a little nervous, and there was something about the way she flinched slightly when Mrs. Eeson laid a comforting hand on her shoulder that told me at least one of the following had to be true: not only did those bruises extend further down her body but the chances were they were also not  result of a fight - an assumption which her cleverly orchestrated facade had originally led me to believe.

It wasn't until Mrs. Eeson gestures her toward the only empty seat in the room - the seat next to me - that she finally looked up, fixating her gaze towards me. She walked towards me, her brilliant green eye still fixated on me with an expression so unreadable it was unsettling. As she came closer the reality dawned on me. From that moment I knew that was no ordinary human being. And I knew that my life was going to change forever.