and a lesbian she was no more

Elizabeth was a lesbian. Of that, she was sure. She had always kind of known. When she was young, she had always shunned the way of the Barbie dolls and would rather play with dinosaurs or Tonka trucks. There were all those times in Kindergarten as well. She smiled fondly at the memories. She and her friend Ali out on the playground for recess, sitting under the slide to hide away from the boys.  The kisses she shared with her were all innocent, of course. Neither thought anything of it. They didn’t really understand love or infatuations.
Time progressed. At twelve, all the girls in her classes couldn’t stop talking about boys. She couldn’t understand the obsession. While her other friends had boyfriends, she was left ogling her pretty history teacher, Ms. Moore or trying to befriend Bethany, the bubbly cheerleader. (To no avail, much to her disappointment.)
At fourteen, she confessed her love for a girl two years her senior and was shot down. The girl never spoke to her again. She did however speak about her. She could remember the salty tears stinging her eyes as she was jeered at for the first time in halls.
“Dyke!” They would hiss.
“Faggot!” They would say, their mouths upturned into cruel smirks.
She was no longer Elizabeth, the quiet girl who spent most of her lunch reading alone. She was now Lizzy the Lezzy, the laughing stock of the school. How it infuriated her!
Word spread fast and in no time it reached the ears of her parents who we’re appalled at their daughters perversion. They sent her to psychiatrists and when that failed to the church where she sat in the pews, hundreds of devout people who had known her for life praying to God for her to be saved from sin.
Things only got worse. At 15, a group of boys had caught her after school. No one did anything to help. A small crowd gathered around as she was beat bloody. What is my crime? She thought. All I have done is loved. She went home that day, broken. Her parents said nothing, only shaking their heads as they say that they tried to help.
The torment continued. Three weeks later Elizabeth found her fathers pistol. With shaking hands, she took it to her temple, treating the thing with utmost care. She smiled weakly. No more pain the voice in the back of her head crooned with relief.
Click.
No more laughs, no more jibes.
BLAM!
Lizzy the Lezzy was a lesbian no more.