Odd One Out

"Good things come to those who wait."
How much longer do I have to wait?

Iris is different. She wants more. She wants to be free.
She wants love.
But no one understands her. Her only escape is through music.
She's the Odd One Out.
And then, she meets Blake...


3. Let Things Go

Dear Love,

Dad say's you are a beautiful pain.

Does a beautiful pain hurt?

Does it hurt to fall in love?

I guess falling hurts, because you always have to hit the ground at some point.


If you meet the right person, you fall, and they catch you in their arms,

And if it's wrong, you fall, and hit the ground, and break.

I don't want to break, Love.

I want to fall into someone's arms.

I want someone to say those words to me.

"I Love You."

I want to hear it on someone elses tongue.

I want to feel the beat of someone elses heart,

To feel their lips on mine,

To hold hands and dance in the moon's tears under the stars gaze.

Oh Love, where are you?

I'm still looking,


 Iris x

I slide my arms into my red raincoat, swallowing the last of my burnt toast.

Mum holds my schoolbag out to me, her lips pressed into a smile.

"Have a good day, sweetie. Just one more week till the holidays!"

Her excitement doesn't convince me.

"Mum, stop speaking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, like I'm five." I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Sorry, I'm just tired."

"Late night?" She asks, pulling her arm around me, holding me close.


She gives me a sad smile, looking at me with that what can I do with you look. My eyes flick up to the clock hanging squint from the kitchen wall. I'm already late.

"Goodbye, Mum."

I kiss her forehead, and click the front door open.

"Goodbye love."


I'm here again.

Staring at those horrible pale green walls.

I dig my elbows into the arms of the wooden chair, sighing.

I don't know what they'll do with me this time.

How many last chances can I have?

Mr Orwick's door clicks open, his figure towering in the doorframe.

"Iris, you can come in now."

I don't meet his eyes. I remember when we were on a zoo trip in primary school, they told us never to look into the lions eyes, because they see it as a threat. So I guess that goes for Mr Orwick too.

He leads me into his room, and I sit in the leather seat opposite his desk. I stare at my hands, my fingers tangling together. Mr Orwick sighs as he sits himself into his chair. He picks up a plastic biro, and ticks something off on a piece of paper, then looks at me expectantly. I don't speak. He grunts.


"Yes, Mr Orwick?"

"Why?" He sounds kind of sad. Disappointed. I swallow hard, and for some reason, tears start spilling from my eyes. Mr Orwick's face flickers with concern. "Iris? Is there something you need help with?"

He has no idea.

I will never fit in.

I will never be cool.

I will never be anything society asks of me.

I will always be stupid, weird, fat and ugly.

I will never be loved.

I thump his desk, resisting the temptation to scream. More tears rain from my eyes.

Mr Orwicks' fingers stretch for the landline phone sitting on his table. I shake my head.

"Don't call Mum, please," I stifle through tears. "Or Dad. I'm sorry for trying to be smart. I'm sorry I always question the teachers, and doubt their intelligence. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for being alive."

I bite my thumb, my body shaking as I cry silently.

I've been holding back these tears for ages.

Let them go, something tells me. It's always good to let things go.





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