A Boxed Set of Characters

He opens his eyes to the sun’s bright rays, and scowls his response to a new day. A trip to the bath, with hot water in a basin, and the emptied contents of a henna dye bottle. He dries his hair and looks into his closet, deprived of all hues. He walks down the stairs and nods at his mother frying his breakfast on a Teflon pan. He waits at the train station, his eyes focused on the people that pass him by. He turns his eyes away from society. He turns up the sounds that plug his ears, his senses, and his mind. The world does not deserve his attention. He walks through those halls with a frown on his face, and he mutters a breath that curses humanity. He hates the injustice. He hates the stereotypes. He leaves his paper blank come exam time. He sees no use in lined education. He comes home to screaming parents, and the tut-tuts of his siblings. He storms into his room. No one understands him. No one knows what he fights for. He screams at the world to listen to his cry. He writes, and posts his views on paper strips. He will not be ignored.

Hear Me.

She opens her eyes to the sun’s bright rays, and grins her response to a new day. A trip to the bath, with warm water in the tub, and a dresser full of creams and make up. She paints her nails and face and sighs at what she perceives is her: imperfection. She hugs and fakes a smile at her indifferent mother, sitting in a futon. She waits at the train station, her eyes focused on her mirror. She turns her attention to society. She smiles, and twirls her hair, bats her eyes, and even softly sings a gentle tune. She knows to seek the world’s attention. She walks through those halls with a smile on her face, and mutters greeting to her so called friends. She hates the injustice. She hates the stereotypes. She answers her exam as best she can. She sees no use in lined education. She comes home, academically triumphant to uncaring faces, and distant siblings. She goes into her room. No one understands her. No one knows her pain. She cries, and brings out the box of her memories. She writes her woes, only to burn them to ashes. She must not be discovered.