Please note that the subject I am adressing has played out many times throughout people's lives across the world, this story was for a school project and is not an actual accourance.

Hate crime

Celcia’s gaze was trained on her own reflection, staring deep into her own brown eyes. Her thick hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of black curls, just barely brushing her arms. She gently pressed her fingertips to the mirror, glistening tears running down her scratched and bleeding cheeks. Her chipped nails were painted a brilliant ruby red, and her soft skin was the rich color of dark chocolate. But she didn’t know how beautiful her skin was. How lovely, how elegant. But it didn’t define who she was, and she didn’t realize that either as she stared sadly into the mirror, disgusted at her own beauty.

“Celcia!” her head turned in the other direction, momentarily forgetting her troubles. The voice had come from the kitchen. “Celcia! It’s dinner!” That would mean her father was done cooking.

“I’m coming.” Celcia croaked back, her voice cracking so much that even she could barely hear it. She dragged her feet into the kitchen, slumping down onto the only chair her house held. The legs wobbled and creaked, threatening to give way beneath her. The broken family ate in silence, pausing only to steal hidden glances at each other over the heartwrenching silence.
Celia hiked her backpack higher up onto her shoulders and tried focusing on hope in a future instead of dread of the past. But this was hard, since the only future she could imagine was death. The beautiful blue sky was flecked with plumes of fluffy white clouds, and every step Celia took on the paved ground seemed to echo in her mind. She felt as if everyone who passed her looked at her with disgust. It wasn’t her fault if she was born the way she was, and it shouldn’t have been bad in the first place.

But when people tore their fists through her skin told her how worthless she was because of her race, she started to believe it. With every punch, with every kick, with every slur, with every laugh, Celia’s mind was riddled and punctured with self doubt. At first, even an awful name was normal for her. Soon, the bloody lips and scars she had seen on TV became a reality. All of the sudden, it gotten so bad that she was often sneaking home with broken ribs or bloody gashes.

The Rickety city bus rattled beneath her carried Celia through her torn up downtown to the city, were her school was. She stepped off of the crumbling stairs onto the sidewalk and into the mass of highschoolers crowding around her school doors. She walked staring down at her feet, accidentally bumping into someone in front of her. “Hey! Watch it, oreo!” Celia looked up, blushing as she saw Dean Parker glaring at her fiercely.

“S-sorry.” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Said Dean, sweeping his red hair back with his hand, “You better be.” He jammed his elbow into her gut, slamming the rib that had just been broken by some gangsters the day before.

Celia moaned, clutching her searing rib and stumbling to the ground, her head thumping and her ears ringing. She vaguely heard Dean Parker laughing as he walked away, and felt pain swelling up inside her body like a balloon threatening to burst. She cradled her self in the same position, tears stinging her eyes, until she heard the same bell ring she heard every day.
“...bullying, assault, rape, and other forms of violence can, in fact, be prevented.” Mrs. Garcia was saying, “However, it can come to a stage where the victim is literally helpless in their own mind. They think it simply impossible to escape the torment and abuse that they face.” Celia’s head was down on her desk, cramped with worry, devastation, and boiling over with pain. Her stomach throbbed, her throat was sore, and her drooping eyes had huge bags beneath them. “Celia?” Celia could barely move her head up to look at her teacher’s worried face, “Celia, can you repeat what I ju-” The teacher’s words were cut short when she saw the scars and bruises covering Celia’s face.

    “Hmm?” Celia choked, her words barely heard by the teacher,

    “Oh my gosh, Celia! What happened to your face?” The broken girl shook her head,

    “N-nothing.” She stuttered. But it wasn’t nothing, and the pain was overwhelming her mind and her body. Her eyes closed and the internal bleeding in her stomach was taking over her entire body. She collapsed on her desk, her consciousness drifting away. Her classmates watched as blood seeped from her shoulders and her stomach, from all of the gashes and cuts reopened by when Dean had punched her.

    Mrs. Garcia’s sobs and the ambulance sirens drummed in the children’s ears for the rest of their lives. The image of a bloody and tear-soaked desk was still bitterly vivid in their minds. After all, Celia klearcia was dead.
Dean parker, robert Shunt Pick, and Clara clover were all arrested for manslaughter after footage of abusing and sexualy assulting Celia Klearcia was discovered. The school launched a program preventing bullying, sexaul abuse, and physical abuse from occurring at their school. Celia’s father started a new life, never forgetting the past, but always looking towards the future. And every other person being bullied or hurt in anyway was brought to justice. As for Celia, she was avenged. She now rests in peace knowing that no one would die like she did. She rests in peace with her beautiful eyes and beautiful hair and beautiful skin. She rests in peace with her chains broken and her freedom renewed.