4 mins

94/365 “In a perfect world, labels disappear,” Lyra started standing at the front of the class. She eyed everyone in the room: the weirdos, the eccentric, the socially awkward, the popular, the nerds and the emos. She had to make her world beautiful to all of them. “We all have been judged before. Stereotypes and labels let others judge us. Everyone is the same without them. Anonymity gives us fresh air to breathe and be ourselves without being glared by the judging eyes. Everyone would have a fair shot at popularity.” “Why would anyone let go of their identity? Isn’t that the most important thing?” Raven cross-questioned.

“Not really. Not unless you are some fashion icon or quite famous. Other than that people try desperately to fit in. They don’t want to be an outcast or labeled as weird. People are trying to make their identity cool enough for others to like them. It’s not about who they believe they should be but what others want them to be. People sugarcoat their words, string their sentences with lies and present a fake version of themselves but it all would go if people had anonymity. They will be what they are without any shame or fear.” She finished with a flourish.

One clap, loud and desolate was followed by thunderous applause. The bell rang signaling the end of the day. As she sat in her sleek black Audi and gunned the engine a satisfied almost devious smirk graced her lips. Who would know better than Lyra Hazel how important an identity could be. After all, she had stolen someone else’s. On reaching home, she went straight to her room and plopped down on her bed.

Her room was draped in baby pink shade with posters adorning the walls. The huge walk-in closet with dresses as expensive as a car, queen-sized bed, laptop and iPhone on the table and a lush carpet beneath her feet were some of the perks of being Lyra Hazel. When she looked in the mirror all she could see was a damaged foster girl trying to be someone else. She was Clarissa Wood, long lost twin sister of Lyra Hazel. Their mother, Charlotte gave them up for adoption. Lyra was adopted by a rich loving family in Tuscon and Clarissa was left with foster families who made her life a living hell.

She went from one foster family to another in search of little love and care but all she got was beatings and abuse. Then she tracked down her twin sister, Lyra and arranged a secret meeting. Needless to say, it was the last meeting Lyra ever attended. After finishing off Lyra, Clarissa took her place and led a life she had always been envious of. Lyra had everything Clarissa had ever wished for, a loving family, caring siblings, close friends, and an amazing boyfriend. Even though they had the same face but they couldn’t be more different. Fate made sure of that.

On Saturday night, while returning from a party thrown by her friends she was abducted. With a rope tied around her hands and feet and blindfold obscuring her vision all she could make out were bumps on the road as the car jerked and she was tossed around in the back of the car. After what seemed like an eternity she was dragged in a room and fastened to a chair. Her blindfold was removed and she blinked away the black spots in her vision. There were two burly men with scary tattoos all over their arms. They didn’t seem like good news. “W-who are y-you?” “Drop the act girly. Let's get to the point, Lyra. Where is our money?” “W-what are you t-talking about?” “Don’t mess with us. You said you would be paying for the drugs you took from us last month. But you haven’t yet baby.”

Her mouth felt cottony and her heart was racing wildly, “Look just let me go and I’ll give you money in a few days.” “No more running away. Give it to us now or die.” “No, wait I’m not Lyra. I’m her twin sister, Clarissa. Lyra is dead.” The men looked at each other and let out a loud mocking laugh. “Great story but we aren’t that stupid. Give our money.” “Trust me I’m Clarissa. I don’t have your money.” “Well too bad. Now you will have to die.”

In her last moments, Clarissa realized how dangerous an identity could be.

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