Thud thud thud thud, thud thud thud thud. Lexi screamed as she ran, boots thudding as they went. Everywhere she looked there were words, taunting her, misspelled words, backwards letters, books dancing and jeering, and behind her came like a raging dragon her english teacher. “You stupid girl, youll never amount to anything!” she seemed to have no eyes, fire in the shape of letters filling her empty sockets, hiding whatever was behind. In her clawed hands she held a book, spelling for kindergarteners. “Youll be held back, again and again, youll never learn anything, youll never read, you are a stupid, stupid girl!” she cackled evilly. The book turned into a sword of misspelled words and backwards letters. Lexi, still looking behind her, didn't see the backwards s hop out and trip her. Uncrossed ‘t’s jeered, and she crawled backwards, crying. O’s that were meant to be lowercase taunted as Ms. Selia got closer and closer. The landscape which was already just fire flared up into the menacing dark sky and lexi woke up sweating.

Ms. Selia was actually usually very nice and patient, she was the english teacher for special needs students. Lexi sighed. Like her. She had dyslexia, as she was reminded whenever somebody spoke to her. Her very name reminded her of her curse. And that was without everyone reminding her. She didn't read, because she had no interest in children's books and she couldn't read books for her age, 15. The fear subsided and she just felt hollow. She didn't know what else to do, so she just curled up and cried. Nobody was there, not even her dog, Mijo, wasn't there. She felt so alone. She just had her blanket to curl around and her pillow to cry into. She pushed her face into it so it muffled her tears. She was silent. 

Nobody heard her, nobody knew her pain, nobody was there. She rolled over and let go of the blanket, pushing out even it. She wanted to have a jornal, then she would have someone to share her feelings with, something that would be there. Another painful reminder, more undotted ‘i’s, uncrossed ‘t’s, backwards ‘s’s and letters in the wrong caps. More misspelled words, more poorly formed sentences. More sweet little reminders to tell her she was a stupid, stupid girl.

“Over in karlanee, many years ago, me mother sang this song to me, in tones so sweet and low. Oh i'd give the world to hear hr now, just a simple little ditty, in a good old irish way, tru la ru la ru la, tru la ru la lay, tru la ru la ru la, it's an irish(shhh sound) lula-by” she sang softly with a hint of irish accent, or rather, her interpretation she was bad at accents, into her pillow, blinking away the small tears. Her mother used to sing that to her when she was just a ‘wee babe’. she was from Ireland, a direct immigrant. She thought lexi had forgotten, but she hadn't. She sang it to herself sometimes just for a little comfort. Lexi took a deep breath and glanced out her window. The sky was gray, it was dawn. So she got up, she would need makeup to fix her red patchy face. 

Lexi Ciara Saga, age 15, bright red hair like a fire, freckles all over her face, brown eyes, and pale skin. She was tall and thin, like a flagpole. She had dyslexia. She stared at herself in the mirror and her mirror reflection stared back, a constellation of freckles like the letter a but shaped all wrong. Her reflection, seemingly calm, laughing at poor, stupid lexi. Her reflections eyes got a glint of fire in them, an evil glint, as tears welled, creating a thin film upon which her hair reflected. The chocolate behind the tears mixed with the orange to create shades of red and dark orange. With her orange hair and puffy red eyes it looked like her face was on fire. So she doused it, washing her face of the tears and trying to smooth away the puffiness. She got concealer and hid all her stupid freckles. She hated those freckles. She hid the red around her eyes with blue eyeshadow and put in deep blue contacts to hide how bloodshot they were. Pink lipstick to hid how pale her lips were. She added fake glasses to look smart but they just looked ridiculous so she took them off. She found a green sweater to hid the red on her arms where she had gripped them as if clutching them would save her life. She tied back her normally straight hair that was frizzy and in her face from the cry. She found a book that she could never read to carry so she would look as if she was reading it.