Silhouette Girl

The girl wept. Her body, a mere silhouette, shook with the anguish that lay trapped beneath her porcelain skin. The oval drops glimmered in the pale light as they slid down her freckled face. Wisps of dark golden strands of hair caressed her cheek before being swept away by a trembling hand. Her lips parted slightly in a small sigh, expelling a hot breath of air that spiraled upwards in the freezing room. She knew she’d brought this upon herself, but it was too late to change. Her life was set. Her destiny was clear before her, unclouded in her usually murky mind.
A boy, with straight jet black hair and a grim expression stood by the door, his ears catching the faint echo of her sobs. He fingered with his worn belt as he listened, his face growing dark with the turmoil of emotions rising within him. As the minutes ticked by he slowly started to turn away, before heading back down the hall.
The girl, oblivious to have being heard, curled into a tight ball on the muted blue colors of her bed and shut her eyes, trying to make the thoughts go away. Peace, silence, that was all she wanted, all that she had ever wanted since this had started.
She was back again. That ghostly silhouette of what would be hard to consider a human form. All sharp angles, bones protruding. So this is what beauty has done to the world, the man thought quietly to himself as he waited for the bus. The girl only a brief thought in his crowded mind, a second glimpse into a world of suffering. Then she was gone once again, forgotten. A whisper from the wind, that brushed ones senses, then moved on. No one would notice, savor a thought from the business man, when the girl stopped coming. And then he would board his bus, and continue home, his world still revolving, when the girl’s had already stopped.


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