Thursday, October 28, 2004


I Just Felt Like Writing!

She sat crouched, in a corner, not daring to look up. Her hair was greasy, matted and possibly the home to many lice. It fell across her face as if a ragged curtain fell across a disused and abandoned theater. Her skin was smudged with dirt, in places it was black from lack of washing. Beneath the dirt her skin would have been compared to a porcelain doll, delicate, pale and perfect.
What a cruel hand she had been dealt.
She could hear the voices in the room over, she wondered but dared not to wonder too much. She knew what happened if you thought. It was not good and they discarded you like a broken toy.
Worn down nails scratched at an insect bite on her bare hand, pushing the oversized shirt sleeve back to reveal the skinny limb she called an arm.
She curled up tighter as a door opened, the sound of many footsteps entering the room. Dark, liquid brown eyes looked up for a moment but then hid in her arms. They talked, but she could not understand. Someone grabbed her by the arm and tried to gently assist her to her feet, but she was too weak.
Strong arms then scooped her up, the delicate waif whom had never known a proper home. The owner of those arms did not care of the lice which inhabited her but for the one he was now carrying. Those arms carried her a long way and when they were not carrying her they were near her, comforting, soothing.
Eventually over the days, weeks and months that followed, her eyes left the arms that had held her and began to see life, with hope and excitement. Now she was clean, her porcelain skin once again revealed, accompanied by a blush in her cheeks. Her hair though had to go, but now it was growing back, thick and wavy.
All it took was a stranger to show her life was worth living and to believe in her, offering what was once seen as a luxury to her.

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