There was one girl everyone called Freak. Her name was Zoey but students never called her by the name she was given except the adults. She walked in the halls with her heavy, leather combats, black ripped jeans, fishnet gloves and a plain black t-shirt with holes. She wore a thick choker on her neck and tight bracelets on her wrists. Her long, dark, teased hair hid half of her back and she had long bangs that covered just above her eyes. Whenever she looked at people, the eyeliner that filled her lids and under her eyes scared them.
At lunch, she sits alone at the isolated table in the food court and stares blankly ahead. People don't bother and come up to her to say anything so they just throw paper and food to see what she does. She turns around, looks at them, and goes back to staring at nothing.

After school, she walks to the public bus where it takes her to an uncharted, broken downed neighborhood. She goes home to a house with a screen door hanging off, holes on the walls and trash on every inch of the floor. She finds her mother always passed out on the worn out couch with her elbows exposed and a needle on the side table. Her dad is in his room sleeping with a lit cigarette, wearing oil stained tank tops and busted pants. She fears of waking him up and flinches whenever he moved his hands around.

When she goes into her room with no door, she carefully removes her clothing one by one; the thick choker, the tight bracelets, the fishnet gloves and the rest of what she’s wearing. She looks at herself into the broken vanity mirror and wipes off the eyeliner that covered all of her eyes. She stares at the reflection in front of her. There were bruises around her eyes, neck, wrists, stomach, and every spot of the body that she covers. She looks straight into her own eyes and whispers, “Freak.”