Copyright©2016 by LovelyAnnB
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[ T h e b e g I n n I n g o f t h e e n d ]
Goal Set:
100
THERE WAS ONLY one way to tell this story, only one version that would tell the truth, and nothing but the truth. A detailed, descriptive, and some what part of my life that happened. And the unique thing about it was: it happened to me. Me of all people, me out of all the girls that stood more of a chance, had more beauty to their everything, but yet it happened to me.
I'm not trying to say this cliche yet stupid line every other girl says, "I'm so ugly, and I'm just a plain face." I myself will stand against this because I just can't say this to describe myself, because there are so many other words I can use, and besides it wasn't true. I wasn't going to downgrade myself that much.
What I'm trying to say is that my face isn't ordinary, what I received from my parents was a roundish shaped, light browned skin with full lips. Slightly roundish brown eyes, along with long, thick dark brown hair.
I'm not Black if that's the mental picture you created.
Nope, with the help from my parents genetic code , my mom had baked a full blooded Native American. My tribe was the Dinè, Navajo. So in short, I'm an FBI.
Interesting, huh?
I thought I was pretty decent, a nice smart young woman that was - I think - succeeding well in school, a Freshman to be exact. And as an FBI, you couldn't really hide your ethnicity since it was pretty obvious I was Native American, which meant the local white kids at school were going to be a lot more verbal and abusive towards me and the other natives that were sent here.
Sent, what a word to use right? Like why would I use a word that made my sentence sound... trapped? Because it did, didn't it? I mean it sounds like what a zoo animal would say when they're being transferred to another building, against their will, out of their reach to change, and something they couldn't control - much less have the power to. So again, why would I use this word?
Because that's exactly what happened.
I blame my mom, just FYI.
So it began on the first day, I had met my friend Luis who was standing outside my apartment door, to walk together to the bus stop. Actually, let's change "met" to "rushed" because what woke me was Luis's urgent call instead of my usual alarm blaring right beside my ear. But who cares, I woke up, got dressed in a minute, brushed my teeth and combed my frizzy hair, double checked the time on my phone while messily putting on eye liner at the same time.
And instead of a friendly "good morning" greeting from Luis, all I got was a "Get your ass over here and hurry the hell up before we miss the bus!" Shout. But could you really blame me for staying up almost half the night to finish a new season of supernatural on Netflix? No. You can't. And if you do I swear to the man upstairs, I will bitch slap you all the way to purgatory so that Sam and Dean can find you and then kick your scrawny ass while they're there. But I wasn't that much of a fanatic like my other friend Brianna was. She knows everything about supernatural.
