Labels

. One .

Hello everyone! I don't know what lead you here to this story, but I really hope you all enjoy the first chapter of this brand new book. This chapter may be a bit long, but this story has been on my mind for a while so I thought I should post some things I have already. I may not post every day and I may take some time to post another chapter here and there, but I still hope all of you enjoy the story overall. Anyway, here's chapter one! :)

Labels do not define you.

That's what people used to say. Parents would say it to their children who would come home from school, crying their eyes out about some girl named Courtney and how she called them a fat whore since they didn't want to share their oreos. For all their lives, kids would grow up believing good and bad things about themselves, and their opinion- rather other people's opinions- about how they look, feel, and even think about will slowly start to worm their way into their hearts and destroy them from the inside as the days pass on, until one day they wake up with a face full of wrinkles and regrets. People would tell one another all the time that labels didn't matter. That they can be anything and everything they ever wanted to be.

But that's just not how things are anymore, and I doubt they will ever be again.

I have read the stories about how the world used to be before the sketchings; the marks that people like to try and say is something close to "art" or "inner beauty." The stories would talk about the times where humans from all ages would wonder in confusion, thinking that they could be something impossible. Before the sketchings, everyone lived in a fantasy world; a place that had no direction, and no future. Sometimes I like to read these stories to give myself a sense of purpose. Other times, I like to read these stories because if I don't, I won't pass my American History class.

The world that I have grown up in is far from those stories. My family doesn't think about the many things they can accomplish by tomorrow, but instead they tell Thomas and I to keep our eyes forward and stay in line no matter what. Thomas follows what they say, but then again he's the favorite. He has been since the moment I turned ten. My parents have lived with simple sketchings, being the only real people who can be called lucky, if you asked me.

My dad, a strong man who talks about the past world as if he lived through it, has the word 'bright' engraved on the back of his right shoulder. Most times others would look at the word with a raised brow, but in my world everyone knew the kind of person he was as soon as they saw it. My dad is known to be one of the smartest people in Bakersfield, owning two companies and creating new ways to help people every day. The mark on his back made it clear to him- clear to anyone- that this was how he was meant to turn out. It was as if the whole reason he became smart, let alone got a successful life, was because of the mark he received; it goes along with the thought of the sketchings to be people's purpose in life.

My mom carries the word 'miracle' on the back of her neck. With her sketching, there is hardly ever an explanation for who she is. Being amazing and overly talented with everything known to mankind, my mom has lived a life filled with nothing but happiness. She and my dad have faced no sort of hardship throughout their lives; even when it comes to their jobs, the most they have to deal with is people who have bad sketchings- such as 'tardy' or 'oblivious.' That was how their lives have been before and after they got married, it's how their lives still are in the public eye.

So then, how did they end up with a daughter like me?

Two people with such luck and love given to them from the world were one day faced with the first downfall they had no other option but to live with. They got lucky before with the downfall my sister brought- even though it took at least two or three months for the gossip to die down- so they didn't have to cry their eyes out like children did in the old days. If anything, the most they got was a slap on the wrist and awkward glances from people on the street. I one time heard someone say that my sister was something close to a "free trial" for my parents.

"At least they got their money back." I one time heard Paulina Jonas- has the word 'vocal' on her collarbone- say to her identical twin Priscilla- has the word 'alluring' on her left hand. It was obvious that they were talking about Thomas. Even though I wanted to slap her pink face and rip out her black hair extensions, I knew that what they were saying was true. I love and miss Amara with all my heart, but Thomas is the perfect kid my parents wanted. He's handsome, smart, polite, and even great at everything school has to offer; it makes sense why every girl and boy wants to either kiss him, date him, or even just sleep with him. Then again, it could be because the word 'valuable' is vertically stretched down his back, giving him the golden ticket to a stress free life.

Meanwhile, my parents got the bad end when having me. But this time, they are doing whatever they can to keep me under wraps. I mean, who would want a kid with the word 'broken' anyway?

Amara used to tell me all the time that it was not my fault for my sketching. She would be the one to wipe away my tears when my mom would tell me I couldn't wear a tank-top when it was boiling outside, or that I couldn't sleep over any of my friends' houses since they might see my mark on accident. I was ten years old at the time, and even though Thomas did his best to make me smile, Amara was the only one in my heart who felt like my hero.

She left when I was thirteen years old, and after that my mark became one with me.

The world that I live in is far from what my history books show. No one can go against the sketchings, for no one can give a real and proper explanation to how they came into this word in the first place. People like to say that it's the Gods who made our society this way, but then there are other people who say that it's a supernatural force that is "casting a spell on us for treating the plants bad," or more so what Candice Bradly- who has the word 'stubborn' on the palm of her right hand- likes to always say during Chemistry. The sketchings seem to be the only way people can function. I have no other choice but to go along with it, or I'll end up like Amara.

At least that's what my parents like to hint at.

Sometimes I try to forget that I have the word 'broken' on the left side of my chest. I think whatever beings or "mystical force" that made the sketchings tried to aim for my heart, but unfortunately for them life didn't plan for me to stay flat chested forever. I remember the moment I saw the word appear on top of my boob, the red words looking jagged and buried within my pores. I was confused when looking at the word, running immediately down the stairs and into my parents' arms.

Before they could ask what was wrong, I was already lifting up my bright orange pajama shirt- being the dumbass ten year old I was, not realizing what the phrase 'flashing someone' meant- and letting the haunting fact that their daughter was nothing than a mistake sink into my parents' hearts. I'll never forget the look of their warm smiles dropping in an instant, looking at me as if I was their worst nightmare.

Then again, I probably was.

Being told at ten years old that your number one rule was to lie to everyone who asked you what and who you are was more than a simple mind like mine could handle. I can't count the many times I almost exposed the truth about my place in the world. Yet I know I will never forget the one time I did share my faults.

Let's just say that I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut.

So, to this day- being sixteen years old and all that- I lie about the mark I was given. I've only ever had a couple people ask me what my mark was, but my family and I have come to an agreement that the go to word for my "mark" is 'thoughtful.' A simple word, something that doesn't stand out too much. My dad came up with the word, the cover story coming easy to him; not letting anyone down with his sketching as usual. I've been keeping up my guard for the longest time, so I don't plan on letting anyone even get the slightest idea that I might be lying; I've fooled all my friends already, so who's to say that I'll fail anytime soon?

But out of all the books I've read about the past world, and out of all the times I've been told to lay under the raider and to be seen as normal as possible, I guess there truly is a reason for my sketching.

That life made no mistake in making my label 'broken.'