AnnelieseRutherford

You can love someone so much...
Isn't it funny how you can be named after someone or something and never match what they portray. There are many different types of people in this world. Kind, horrid, sad, perverted… the list goes on. Anneliese could care less, she loved everyone she came in contact with. She was beyond a happy person, she was vivid with life. That vivid life within her, that seemed to gleam out at all times, would slowly die out within her core.

Anneliese "Ann" Rutherford had ever been an extrovert. Even around her family members, she wasn't much of a talker. Maybe if she had been, things would be different. People liked to make fun of Anneliese- mostly because she didn't have any friends who would stick up for her. Her only outlet was her home. Before the evening rolled around, before her father began to lie about where he was going, she forgave him. Anneliese, her parents, and her older brother would play games and have a happy dinner and laugh about mean people at school. Until her mother found out what her daddy was doing.


But you can never love people as much as you miss them.
After her father left, everything crashed down around Anneliese. Her brother and her mother were livid. They no longer believed in love, or eternal happiness. Silently, Anneliese disagreed. Maybe her parents weren’t soul mates, but other people were. The people in the stories she read were. And they were happy. Her mother just hadn't found the right person yet. To distract herself from her family's problems, Anneliese engaged in books upon books- mostly teen chick lit. The works of writers such as Sarah Dessen, John Green, and David Levithan amazed her. She didn't need any friends. She had these characters to help her through everything. Someday, she'd find someone who could be her soulmate, and take care of her much better than her father took care of her mom. And she even began to write characters of her own.

That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.
When Anneliese began writing her stories in notebooks that she took to class, the bullies began stealing them and making fun of them, calling out her character's names in embarrassing situations and asking how her characters were doing. With moods that tend to shift back and forth, and an itch that up until recently, she'd been dying to scratch, rumors spread about her, catcalls and insults were thrown at her, and from many, she was shunned as an outcast. She spent most of her time in the art room, attempting to fight any of the urges she'd struggled with by painting for hours on end. By now, her mother had fallen into depression, and her brother was in college. She didn't want to worry them. She could take care of these bullies herself, and write bad things about them in her books when she was older. So she began skipping school. Every morning, she'd ride her bike to the park instead of the classrooms, and sit in solemn silence with her pen and a notebook.