T.J. Johnstone

Battle Scars

Seven years have passed since I started witness protection. Seven years since I’ve able to recognize the girl I used to be. Through the years I’ve gone from blonde, to brunette, to red, and back to blonde. I cannot even look in the mirror and remember what my hair was. My mom tells me I used to have the whitest blonde hair she’d ever seen. It reflected well with my pale, almost clear blue eyes. They are my most distinguishing feature, so of course I have to hide them. “Colored contacts are your friend,” they tell me. As if saying that makes it any easier to hide another piece of who I am.