Writing was the only thing she could admit her talent for. She couldn't fill out a C cup and couldn't run an eight-minute mile but she could write. All her life, Isabella's teachers had commended her writing skills. From short stories and essays to plays and mock-television scripts for her favorite television shows, Isabella loved to write and did so at every opprotunity. At the age of fifteen, Bella, as her friends called her, began an open journal online. Pouring her heart and soul out through her fingertips, she bared her soul for complete strangers. Neither of her parents quite understood her and nor did her friends. They meant well but all attempts to cheer her up ended with a fake smile and artifical laughter on her part. Yet, most friends were fooled with the illegitimacy of her act.
Bella's life wasn't the greatest but it wasn't the worst. She had two parents who loved her, even if they didn't always seem like they did, a few very close friends, an emmense talent for writing, and all those little luxuries most Americans take for granted. Yet, she couldn't shake the feelings of worthlessness, depression, and aggravation that snuck up on her like a thief in the night. The littlest things could set her off: from a wrong look to a day of grounding, even if she deserved far more than that. Subsequently, her day of punishment would be lengthened to a week or more.
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