Violet

Violet was a small child, even for her tender age. However, no-one who knew her would have said she was tender. She had huge dark eyes which she used to unsettle others, and she made a habit of avoiding speech whenever possible.

This time, Violet was sitting cross-legged on the playground floor at break time. She wore an inscrutable countenance as she picked at the sandwich her father had packed for her. As usual, she was alone. Some distance away, a plump girl from her year was handing out birthday party invites. A small gaggle of children had flocked around her. 'She's not even that popular,' Violet reflected as she drew a large V in the dust with her finger. Not that she really cared; she had more serious things to worry about right then. The playground suddenly seemed quieter. Violet looked up at the group in front of her. They had dropped their voices and where arguing heatedly in ill-suppressed whispers. At the centre of the knot a pretty blond child, whom Violet knew to be called Romilda, was reviling the birthday-girl for something she had just said. '...not the freak! Seriously?' she ranted, a little too loudly. The chubby girl clutching the invitations glanced surreptitiously at Violet's corner, caught her eye and hastily turned back to face Romilda. Violet knew they were talking about her, but she didn't much care, as long as they kept her out of it.

As it transpired, she was not to be kept out of it. The girl appeared to have stood her ground against Romilda's assaults, since she was making her way towards Violet with a purposeful look. Violet cleaned her dusty fingers on her trousers and looked up at the newcomer blankly. She was surprised to see her holding out a colourful card and making a brave attempt at smiling. People usually found this difficult around Violet. Although annoyed, Violet tried to soften her expression; the girl looked as though she was trying to be kind. 'Would you like to come to my party?' she said, offering her the card. The honest answer was 'no', however nice she was trying to be, and Violet had never been one to beat around the bush, so she said it. The girl looked stung. 'Maybe you are a freak,' she snapped, her eyes filling with tears, as she turned on her heel and marched back to the smug-faced group awaiting her.

The rest of the morning was uneventful. Mrs Wells was just finishing setting their homework for the following week when the bell rang, signalling the end of the day's lessons. Violet started to collect her things slowly. She preferred being last out of class. She was zipping up her bag, quite alone, when Romilda stormed into the classroom to confront her. Violet gazed into her eyes impassively. 'You know you've upset Claire?' she started, in her most annoying girlish voice. Violet remained silent. 'It's rude to refuse an invitation, even if you're not going to show up.' Violet could've pointed out that Romilda wasn't even Claire's friend, that she called her fat behind her back, that she didn't even want her, Violet, to go to the party, that she was false and vain... she simply shrugged. 'Well!?' the other demanded, in an even higher pitched voice. Violet had had enough. She stood up abruptly, dropping her bag as she did so, and fixed her round black eyes on Romilda's almond blue one's. One by one, the silly child's deepest worries floated to the foremost part of her brain, where Violet could see them clearly through the two pale-blue windows open to her at either side of Romilda's straight nose. The girl held her stare defiantly for a while, unaware of the danger this posed. She suddenly winced, tried to jerk her head away. It was too late. She was unable to close her eyes, unable to shut it out.

Violet could see Romilda fretting before a mirror in her underwear, she could see Romilda clutching her ears as her parents rowed fiercely at table, she could see Romilda blushing as she passed a boy in the corridor... She tore away form her thoughts and the pretty girl slumped to the floor, whimpering. At that moment, the caretaker, a middle-aged lean woman who checked the classrooms after each school-day, chose to appear at the doorway. 'What's going on?' she said sharply, seeing Romilda's shuddering figure on the floor. 'What's the matter with her, child?' she demanded of Violet. 'She was unkind,' Violet answered simply. She looked at Romilda thoughtfully for a moment, then added, 'I'm going home,' and picked up her bag. The caretaker grabbed her by the arm. 'What have you done to her?' Violet turned her face slowly to meet her gaze. She caught sight of a sickbed, the stuffy atmosphere of a hospital room... The caretaker grimaced slightly and raised a hand to her temple, as if affected by migraine. 'Your brother's dying,' Violet told her coldly. The woman went pale and released her. 'How... how'd you...' she fell silent, her left hand still holding her head, grabbing a table for support with the other. Violet left them there and, feeling nothing, stepped out into the sunny street where her father stood waiting for her.

To J. MaFer, who can so often read my mind.