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Description
It was a breezy day, the wind tossing my hair out of its braids. This hair had brought me so much conflict and unhappiness.

It wasn't flame red like dad's , or ebony like mom's. It isn't mouse brown, or chocolate brown, or honey blond, or caramel colored.

Blood red. A dark, eye-burning red.

It's what got me the nickname "Bloody Lucy". They love to taunt me. I hate it. I hate this hair.

A strand flies into my face and I fly into a fit. For the millionth time, my hand flies to the scissors in my backpack, and I tug it in front of my eyes. I'd love to see the evil strands flutter down. So what if wouldn't make a difference? I want it gone. I want it to stop flying in my face, like it's silently torturing me. I raise the scissors in a fluid motion and I hear them snip, watching a large chunk of my hair float to the ground.

"What're you doing that for?" I drop the scissors and turn, my hair in half-in braids and chunks dangling in front of my face, the newly cut section bang-like in appearance.

"What does it matter to you?" I spit at the boy. He had green eyes and hair that was a mix between blond and mousy brown. I cling to my shirt.

"Isn't it a shame to cut it? You're hair's such a pretty shade of red." He smiles at me, his green eyes sad. "Why would you do that to such pretty hair?" I saw pity in his eyes. I'd had about enough of people's false pity and understanding.

"I hate it!" I screech at him, picking up my bag. "I hate it!" I take off down the sidewalk and I can feel his eyes on me, as I tear around the corner of my street. I run blindly.

I see him pick up the scissors, but I look away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day I went to school with my hair in a ponytail and my newly-made bangs. My mom had made a fuss when she'd seen what I'd done by 'accident' and fixed it so it was bangs, but I still had the urge to get rid of it all. I couldn't do anything right now because that stupid kid had taken my scissors, and there was no way I could face him after embarrassing myself like that.

I guess it wasn't really my choice, though, because on the way home from school I looked to see him following me. After about five minutes, I confronted him again.

"What do you want?" I yelled at him. "Stop following me! I don't want your pity, stupid!"
He looked at me wide-eyed for a second before giving me the same sad smile he had the other day.

"It's not pity, I just think that you're a lot like me."

I stood still for a moment. Like him? What's that supposed to mean?

"I- I mean, I think what they're doing is wrong. I always see them bullying you at school because of your hair, and I just thought to myself all the time that it was terrible because I thought your hair was beautiful. That's-that's all." He blushed.

"Beautiful?" I looked at him, my face relaxing.

"Yeah. It's a really nice color, it's like the color of-"

"Blood?" I blurted at him angrily, finishing his sentence without thinking.

"No, it's like the color of a raspberry." He smiled wide.

"A.... raspberry?" I titled at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. See?" He pulled a container of uneaten raspberries from his lunch box, and gingerly held up a strand of my hair. "It's the same color. It's really, really pretty!" He laughed.

I softly took the container of raspberries and held it close to my chest. For some reason, I felt happy at that moment.

"Go ahead and keep them."

"Thank you," I whispered, too cowardly to face him, and ran home again. It seemed it ended like that often, me running off in cowardice. It was different this time, though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the next couple weeks he would follow me home. At one point I realized he was going out of his way to talk to me and walk with me.

"Why d'you walk home with me? I don't even know your name, and you don't know mine." I walked beside him, my backpack dragging at my feet.

"Well, my name's Louis Marshall."

"My name's Lucy. Lucy Flynn." I smiled at him. "Lou-is. That's a funny name. Like the song, right? Skip, skip, skip to my Lou," I skipped alongside him, my wide smile still there. "I'll call you Lou-Lou, then. " My smile turned into a devious smirk. I felt like I was at a point I could tease him now.

He gave me a really serious look, so I thought I had made him mad. Then he let out an annoyed sigh.

"Augh! What a terrible nickname. You better not stick that to me for the rest of my life, ya know, or I'm not gonna be happy."

I giggled and he laughed.

A mocking laugh echoed ours as a group of boys crossed the street and approached us.
"Ah, so Bloody Lucy and the Lonely Field Mouse have met, huh?" One of the three smirked at Louis and pushed him down.

"Lonely field mouse..?" I whispered and looked at Louis, who looked terrified.
"I wonder if Bloody Lucy's blood really is the same color as her hair." One of them grinned at me like the cheshire cat and pulled me forward by the collar. I kicked and scratched. I pulled on of my hands free, and punched him in the nose. I fell to the ground. The boy who was intimidating Louis walked over, and looked down at me. He raised his to kick me but I didn't feel anything. Louis sat in front of me, grabbing my hand. We ran, and ran.

"What'd you do that for?" I yelled at him once we got around the corner and hid. I yanked my hand away and stared at his bruised arm, the red marks of the bully's shoe sole on his arm.

"Because we're friends." He smiled at me as he hugged his knees. He pulled the scissors out of his battered backpack. "I think these are yours. Here." He held them out to me.
I pushed his hand back.

"First of all, you shouldn't point the blade towards me, idiot." I smirked at him and handed them back carefully. "I don't want them anymore. If I cut my hair someday, it's because I'm strong then. But I'm not strong yet, so keep them." I hugged him tight and cried. I'm not the type of girl who cried, I'm the type who walked around annoying people and snapping at them and fighting with people. But I cried, and I thanked him, and for once, I let him walk me home. I didn't run from the corner like a coward, but I let him walk me all the way home.

I spent the next couple hours talking on and on about the new friend I'd made and how he'd helped me and I spilled the beans on everything to my parents. I told them how I'd been bullied, how I'd hated my hair.

The truth is, I didn't really hate it anymore. It brought me a new friend, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my blood red hair that reminds a friend of raspberries.
It was the day I felt free, and I finally let myself be happy.

Description
It was a breezy day, the wind tossing my hair out of its braids. This hair had brought me so much conflict and unhappiness.

It wasn't flame red like dad's , or ebony like mom's. It isn't mouse brown, or chocolate brown, or honey blond, or caramel colored.

Blood red. A dark, eye-burning red.

It's what got me the nickname "Bloody Lucy". They love to taunt me. I hate it. I hate this hair.

A strand flies into my face and I fly into a fit. For the millionth time, my hand flies to the scissors in my backpack, and I tug it in front of my eyes. I'd love to see the evil strands flutter down. So what if wouldn't make a difference? I want it gone. I want it to stop flying in my face, like it's silently torturing me. I raise the scissors in a fluid motion and I hear them snip, watching a large chunk of my hair float to the ground.

"What're you doing that for?" I drop the scissors and turn, my hair in half-in braids and chunks dangling in front of my face, the newly cut section bang-like in appearance.

"What does it matter to you?" I spit at the boy. He had green eyes and hair that was a mix between blond and mousy brown. I cling to my shirt.

"Isn't it a shame to cut it? You're hair's such a pretty shade of red." He smiles at me, his green eyes sad. "Why would you do that to such pretty hair?" I saw pity in his eyes. I'd had about enough of people's false pity and understanding.

"I hate it!" I screech at him, picking up my bag. "I hate it!" I take off down the sidewalk and I can feel his eyes on me, as I tear around the corner of my street. I run blindly.

I see him pick up the scissors, but I look away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day I went to school with my hair in a ponytail and my newly-made bangs. My mom had made a fuss when she'd seen what I'd done by 'accident' and fixed it so it was bangs, but I still had the urge to get rid of it all. I couldn't do anything right now because that stupid kid had taken my scissors, and there was no way I could face him after embarrassing myself like that.

I guess it wasn't really my choice, though, because on the way home from school I looked to see him following me. After about five minutes, I confronted him again.

"What do you want?" I yelled at him. "Stop following me! I don't want your pity, stupid!"
He looked at me wide-eyed for a second before giving me the same sad smile he had the other day.

"It's not pity, I just think that you're a lot like me."

I stood still for a moment. Like him? What's that supposed to mean?

"I- I mean, I think what they're doing is wrong. I always see them bullying you at school because of your hair, and I just thought to myself all the time that it was terrible because I thought your hair was beautiful. That's-that's all." He blushed.

"Beautiful?" I looked at him, my face relaxing.

"Yeah. It's a really nice color, it's like the color of-"

"Blood?" I blurted at him angrily, finishing his sentence without thinking.

"No, it's like the color of a raspberry." He smiled wide.

"A.... raspberry?" I titled at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. See?" He pulled a container of uneaten raspberries from his lunch box, and gingerly held up a strand of my hair. "It's the same color. It's really, really pretty!" He laughed.

I softly took the container of raspberries and held it close to my chest. For some reason, I felt happy at that moment.

"Go ahead and keep them."

"Thank you," I whispered, too cowardly to face him, and ran home again. It seemed it ended like that often, me running off in cowardice. It was different this time, though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the next couple weeks he would follow me home. At one point I realized he was going out of his way to talk to me and walk with me.

"Why d'you walk home with me? I don't even know your name, and you don't know mine." I walked beside him, my backpack dragging at my feet.

"Well, my name's Louis Marshall."

"My name's Lucy. Lucy Flynn." I smiled at him. "Lou-is. That's a funny name. Like the song, right? Skip, skip, skip to my Lou," I skipped alongside him, my wide smile still there. "I'll call you Lou-Lou, then. " My smile turned into a devious smirk. I felt like I was at a point I could tease him now.

He gave me a really serious look, so I thought I had made him mad. Then he let out an annoyed sigh.

"Augh! What a terrible nickname. You better not stick that to me for the rest of my life, ya know, or I'm not gonna be happy."

I giggled and he laughed.

A mocking laugh echoed ours as a group of boys crossed the street and approached us.
"Ah, so Bloody Lucy and the Lonely Field Mouse have met, huh?" One of the three smirked at Louis and pushed him down.

"Lonely field mouse..?" I whispered and looked at Louis, who looked terrified.
"I wonder if Bloody Lucy's blood really is the same color as her hair." One of them grinned at me like the cheshire cat and pulled me forward by the collar. I kicked and scratched. I pulled on of my hands free, and punched him in the nose. I fell to the ground. The boy who was intimidating Louis walked over, and looked down at me. He raised his to kick me but I didn't feel anything. Louis sat in front of me, grabbing my hand. We ran, and ran.

"What'd you do that for?" I yelled at him once we got around the corner and hid. I yanked my hand away and stared at his bruised arm, the red marks of the bully's shoe sole on his arm.

"Because we're friends." He smiled at me as he hugged his knees. He pulled the scissors out of his battered backpack. "I think these are yours. Here." He held them out to me.
I pushed his hand back.

"First of all, you shouldn't point the blade towards me, idiot." I smirked at him and handed them back carefully. "I don't want them anymore. If I cut my hair someday, it's because I'm strong then. But I'm not strong yet, so keep them." I hugged him tight and cried. I'm not the type of girl who cried, I'm the type who walked around annoying people and snapping at them and fighting with people. But I cried, and I thanked him, and for once, I let him walk me home. I didn't run from the corner like a coward, but I let him walk me all the way home.

I spent the next couple hours talking on and on about the new friend I'd made and how he'd helped me and I spilled the beans on everything to my parents. I told them how I'd been bullied, how I'd hated my hair.

The truth is, I didn't really hate it anymore. It brought me a new friend, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my blood red hair that reminds a friend of raspberries.
It was the day I felt free, and I finally let myself be happy.