Keira

f i f t e e n

The skies are always filled with clouds, blanketing the sky like a patchwork quilt. Puffs of white and gray are smoothed over Keira's head. And the sunlight never breaks through.

Her world contains no color. The life is drained from it, leaving things behind that look like plastic toys.

Cold and fake. That's how everything feels.

Every new day is one shadowed by pale gray skies.

And sometimes it rains.

Storms are rare, but when they come, they hit with the force of a million tons.

Delaney was a storm.

Before Keira, there was Delaney. She had an affinity for danger and boys who liked to dawdle on the wrong side of the tracks.

Delaney was the dash of red lipstick smeared across a boy's face. She was the way that everyone stared. She was the undefinable charisma of someone who has nothing but shallow emptiness. She was lack of emotion and dark eyes. She was feathery hair. She was twirling skirts. She was the final drop at the bottom of a bottle. She was.

Delaney left a mold for Keira to follow. She filled it well, snugly assuming the power she once held. But it was an imperfect fit. She was jammed in some places and felt cramped, the space too tight to allow breathing, and sometimes she struggled to break out.

But here's the thing; Keira's already stuck fast within the labels that society has wrapped her in. Layer upon layer of adhesive paper is laid upon her like burdens to carry.

Her labels match Delaney's, so they've shoved her into a box that reads, Bad Girl, Tease, Beware of Broken Hearts, as if any of this was what she wanted.

At the end of the day, no matter how hard Keira tries, she knows her efforts are futile, and she settles behind the plastic covering of her mold.

She's forced to be yet another doll. Before her there was Delaney. Before her, there were others.

And there will continue to be.