Isabel Gamuza had a reputation that extended far beyond the confines of the cafeteria. With her glossy hair, polished uniform, and a designer purse draped neatly over her arm, she looked every bit the image of refinement. Her sharp green eyes sparkled with calculation, scanning every corner of the school for opportunity. Gossip was her weapon, attention her currency, and status her ultimate prize.
When Isabel became the Student Council's treasurer, she quickly transformed the position into her personal arena of influence. On paper, she was immaculate—records flawless, ledgers balanced to the last centavo, every fundraising tally delivered with precision. Teachers praised her efficiency. Classmates admired her poise. She was the embodiment of diligence.
But beneath the polished exterior lay something darker. Isabel's perfectionism wasn't about service—it was about control. Every peso collected became an opportunity. Small "adjustments" in reporting allowed her to skim off tokens for herself and her allies: snacks slipped into purses, favors repaid with quiet generosity, rewards distributed strategically to ensure loyalty. Her generosity always had a hook. Those who benefited felt indebted; those who didn't were quietly reminded of their exclusion.
Isabel's greed was not for money alone. It was for power, attention, and the aura of indispensability. She manipulated numbers and narratives alike—highlighting her role in every successful event, deflecting blame for every failure. Fundraisers weren't just projects; they were performances. Each announcement of "exceeding expectations" was a calculated speech, crafted to burnish her image as the council's shining star.
Yet whispers began to circulate. Missing funds. Uneven distributions. Classmates who claimed promises of rewards went unfulfilled. When confronted, Isabel was a master of deflection—laughing lightly, redirecting blame, charming her accusers until doubt clouded their certainty.
Isabel Gamuza wasn't just a treasurer. She was an architect of power, building her empire out of numbers, favors, and whispers. To the school, she was the picture of perfection. A barnacle indeed feeds on the ship it clings to.
Isabel had recently stumbled upon a novel titled "IVANKA", a story that captivated her in unexpected ways. The main character, Ivanka, was a young woman who wielded influence over those around her, much like Isabel did at Maplewood High. Ivanka's world revolved around power, manipulation, and the social dynamics that came with it.
She and her friends later planned a trip to the seaside for some refreshments and to cool off. They went to the mountains to hike and camp and to the sea for swimming and bonfires. Isabel brought the book with her, for she was really intrigued with the story inside of it.
And as she delved deeper into the story, she saw reflections of herself in Ivanka's actions—the carefully constructed lies, the art of persuasion, and the way Ivanka thrived on knowing everyone's secrets. But there was something more. Ivanka, too, was driven by an insatiable need to control her environment, much like Isabel's constant hunger for gossip and influence.
However, as the story progressed, Isabel began to see the darker side of Ivanka's life, one she had not yet fully acknowledged in her own. Ivanka's world started to crumble as the people she had blackmailed turned against her, and her carefully well-written story began to fall apart.
For the first time, Isabel felt a pang of fear. The parallels between herself and Ivanka were too striking to ignore. As Isabel turned the final page, she couldn't help but wonder if the story she had just read was a cautionary tale
After finishing Ivanka, Isabel felt a mixture of exhilaration and unease swirling within her. The vivid portrayal of Ivanka's life weighed heavily on her mind as she headed to the beach with her friends. The sun was shining, and the salty air filled her lungs, offering a brief escape from the lingering thoughts of manipulation and power.
As they splashed into the cool water, laughter filled the air, momentarily drowning out her worries. Isabel dove beneath the surface, chasing after a glimmering school of fish, feeling the freedom of the ocean envelop her. It was a stark contrast to the tension she had felt while reading, and for a moment, she let herself forget about the parallels between her life and Ivanka's.
However, as she swam deeper, she brushed against the ocean floor and felt a sharp sting. Startled, she resurfaced to find her hand bleeding, tiny scratches crisscrossing her torso from the jagged shells hidden beneath the waves.
"Oh no, Isabel! Are you okay?" One of her friends, Lily, exclaimed, swimming closer.
Isabel grimaced, inspecting the scratches. "Yeah, it's just a few scrapes. I'll be fine," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the sharp pain. But as the water stung her wounds, she felt a deeper sting of vulnerability, a reminder of her reckless actions.
As they returned to the shore, her friends gathered around her, concerned. "Maybe we should head back," suggested Jenna, her brow furrowed. "We can find some band-aids for you."
"No, let's just keep swimming!" Isabel insisted, not wanting to ruin the fun. Despite the pain, she dove back into the water, but now every splash felt different. Instead of exhilaration, an undercurrent of anxiety began to churn within her. Was she willing to risk it all for the sake of status, just like Ivanka?
As she swam, the scratches throbbed. When they finally returned to the shore, Isabel sat on the sand, her friends chatting and laughing around her. But she couldn't shake the feelings of doubt and reflection that the day had brought. She watched the waves crashing, wondering if she would end up like Ivanka, torn apart by her own ambition.
The next day Isabel wakes up feeling uneasy, and a strange redness spreads across her skin, similar to the vivid descriptions in the novel. She initially dismisses it as a reaction to the sun or saltwater, but as the day progresses, it transforms into patches of bluish-black and tightness. Her friends are horrified and urge her to see a doctor. Isabel feels weaker and her energy drains, feeling as if reality is imitating the story.
Isabel was rushed to the hospital due to exhaustion and a sterile atmosphere. Once inside the examination room, the doctor took one look at her and immediately raised the alarm.
"Get her stabilized! We need to run tests," he ordered, urgency in his voice.
Isabel felt cold and clammy as they hooked her up to various machines, their beeping noises echoing the rhythmic thrum of her racing heart.
Lying there, Isabel could almost hear the whispers of her own fears, much like the narrative threads woven into Ivanka. The thought of the machines being the only things keeping her alive chilled her to the bone. She remembered Amie's weak dialogues and the tears streaming down her face, and suddenly, she felt a surge of empathy for the character who had once felt so distant.
She is left with a rare skin infection due to exposure to ocean bacteria and shell scratches. The condition spreads rapidly, inflaming her skin and threatening her body's defenses. Doctors reveal a grim diagnosis, and Isabel is surrounded by machines, fighting against the reality she once trivialized as mere fiction. Her days become a blur of medical procedures, pain, and confusion as she struggles to cope with the reality of her condition.
Isabel, living on the edge, realized she had overlooked the fragility of life and the consequences of greed and manipulation. She reflected on Ivanka and the harsh reality of pain beneath the surface. She made a silent vow to transform her life, striving to be more empathetic and kind, using her influence to uplift rather than harm. She may channel her experience into a new story - one where the protagonist emerges not from darkness, but from the light of understanding and compassion.
As sleep began to take hold, Isabel hoped to wake up to a world where she could finally step away from the shadows of her past, choosing instead to embrace the beauty of genuine connection over the thrill of power.
The doctors tried to stabilize her, but their efforts were in vain. What had begun as simple scratches transformed into something much more sinister. The redness spread further across her skin, engulfing her limbs in an angry hue that pulsed and throbbed with pain. The bluish-black patches grew larger, seeping into her tissues, and the sensation of her flesh dying slowly became unbearable.
She felt her body turning against her. Isabel could hardly move, and the slightest touch sent waves of agony coursing through her. A deep sense of horror settled within her, realizing she was trapped in a nightmare of her own making, one that had come to life with terrifying clarity.
As she feels the beeping of machines as funeral dirges. She imagines the characters from Ivanka watching her, their consequences haunting her. The pain intensifies, causing blisters and festering wounds. Her reality splinters as she gazes at the grotesque image reflected in the hospital room, and the sight of her body twisted in agony is too much to bear.
The doctors rushed in, panic setting in as they saw her state. "We need to act fast!"One shouted, but Isabel could feel herself slipping. As they fought to save her, she felt a strange detachment, as though she was watching herself from afar. The medications were no longer effective, and the infection was spreading like wildfire through her veins, consuming her very essence.
Isabel's nightmare intensified as she felt her body turning against her, causing her to scream and experience unbearable pain. The infection had begun to rot her flesh, and she could almost see tendons and sinews beneath her skin falling apart. Her vision blurred, and the world fading into an abyss. In her final moments.
Isabel realized the weight of her choices and the twisted reality of what had happened to her. She realized that she had been consumed by her need for control and manipulation, neglecting the essence of life itself.
As her body began to fail her completely, the once bright spark in her eyes dulled, replaced by the hollow gaze of someone who had finally understood the true price of ambition. In her last breath, she let out a choked cry - a mixture of regret and sorrow for the person she had become.
In her final moments, the room grew silent except for the machines.
The barnacles that ate her up had given her a haunting echo of the life she once had, now reduced to a memory of horror, leaving behind only the whispers of her choices.