Isabela
Seven years ago
"Isa is mean," said a girl from school.
"She's bad," another agreed.
"She's dirty," accused the boy I loved.
"A slut," his sister added.
I finish mixing the dye, noticing how the deep red color is identical to the blood staining my white lace dress. As I apply the dye to my dark blonde hair, my mother’s distant screams show it has begun. I am killing my old self so another can be born.
I wrap myself in a red shell.
I raise my shields.
I become a wall.
And no one will ever lay a hand on me to hurt me again!