The silver shone in the sun brilliantly and the stone gleamed with perfection. It was perfect; a sea green stone with dark blue veins, like breaking glass. A perfect oval inside the perfect silver casing. That kind of perfectness could never last, but everyone loved it. Everywhere I went people gave me compliments on it. It was the first thing people noticed, and the last thing they glanced at as I walked away.

“Where did you get it?” Girls would ask, the green envy in their voices coloring the air.

“It was a gift from a family friend.” I would reply, thinking nothing of it.

I never thought it was important, just an accessory that was comforting. I had developed the habit of rubbing it when I was nervous and biting it when I was angry. It was a constant companion.

And then the unthinkable happened: the stone fell. It rolled lazily across the floor and disappeared, forever. I searched, to no avail. It was as if the shadows had abducted the precious stone, concealing it from me. In my anger and frustration I threw the empty casing against the ground, as hard as I could, and then walked away. As I retreated I began to feel the emptiness where the ring used to be. I quickly stalked back, picking up the ring. I had dented it. It was a small dent, just a bent part of the circle, where the ring had struck the floor.

I couldn’t get rid of it; it was a part of me. An abandoned, hated, disfigured part of me, but a part of me just the same. Compliments no longer fell around me like rice at a wedding. The ring’s beauty was gone, and so was society’s acceptance . It reminded me of growing up. When we become old , and our beauty evaporates, society moves on. What isn’t beautiful is discarded, and then replaced with a better version. Aesthetics are important to everyone. Teachers want projects to look nice, teens want to be the prettiest (or most handsome) person, everyone is vying for attention. The ring no longer fit society’s views.

To me, the ring was better this way. It had character. It had my anger, my frustration, my hate. It had my disdain, my uniqueness, and my character. It was broken, but still contained some of it's former glory. I won't stop wearing this ring until society finds a way to accept people who don't fit the mold. You can throw away a ring, but you cannot throw away people. This ring is those people. This ring is the nerds, and the losers, and the goths, and the emos, and the band geeks, and the choir kids, and the orchestra freaks. This ring is anyone who has ever been hurt, or bullied, or abused by their peers. And I am not about to throw people away like they are replaceable. Because they're not.Yet, society always throws the broken ring and walks away, without even a glance over their shoulder to make sure that it'll be okay.