Violet; My Story

Introduction.

Violet.

I absolutely abhor that name. I always did.

I know what you are thinking.  “So…Violet? You are mad because you’ve been named after a flower, eh? How could you possibly hate your own name? You must have self-esteem issues or something.” First off, I do not have self-esteem issues. Second, I do not hate the name because I dislike the way it sounds. Actually, I have always loved the way my name sounded. What I’ve always hated was what the name represented. It had been the only thing that my father had given me, besides his DNA, before he had managed to take off, leaving my mother to fend for not only herself, but me as well. The thing is, I have never met my father. I don’t even know his name. I don’t even think that he deserves the label “father.” 

Many people can agree that my life is not very complicated, or hard. People have always called me beautiful, and I have always had many friends. I never had problems with fitting in. 

Also, I am tall. Not model tall, but tall enough. I was born with extremely white skin, and strawberry red hair that I inherited from my Irish mother. People call me beautiful. I never have to wear make-up because I never need any. 

Why would you want to fake your beauty? 

I love my mother. We have always had a wonderful relationship with eachother. It was always natural for us to bond since we were always the only two girls in the house. I am an only child, and yes, I do get absolutely everything that I want. 

Jealous? 

Of course you are. 

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