1. Lips

The cold marble steps were merciless underneath my sprawled body. No, physically I wasn't harmed, but inside I was a writhing mess of emotion. Whispers circulated me as I rose from my crumpled position and stared hard at the affender. I knew how  unforgiving my stormy grey eyes could look when I was really furious. Many people believe that brute force is the best weapon. They're wrong. Words are the ultimate ammunition. You may have guessed where this has been taking place. You probably haven't. This is Y9, secondary school. The 'popular' girls, or vultures, as they appear, are the ringmasters to this crazy circus. Slaves to short skirts, false eyelashes and orange fake tan, their male equivalents are hardly better. Rugby addicts, the only clothes they dress themselves in are designer gear. Amongst them are the geeks, the footie fans, the wannabes (generally girls, trying to be one of the 'gang', don't ask me why), the snobs and so on. However, they all unite as one as they stare at me, a mixture of smugness and scorn. But the widest smile was stretched across the thin lips of Kirsty Saunders. It was those lips that started it all.

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