I thought of this after listening to Concrete Angel by Martina McBride.
Don't own what you recognise.
A small, seven-year-old brown-haired girl could be found in the kitchen of her house in the village Forks. She was carefully buttering some toast, followed by a single egg and some coffee. Her mother, Reneé Swan, frowned down at her food. Her hand shot out, hitting the little girl in the back of her head. Hard. A gasp of shock escaped the girl, but the woman had already begun eating. The girl just went outside, her small bag on her back and a brown paper bag in her left hand, filled with a single granola bar. That was all she'd managed to steal.
The little girl walked towards Forks Elementary. It's wasn't that far. She entered and sat down at the back of the class. A boy with bronze hair and green eyes came to sit next to her. As she looked at him her eyes drifted towards his arm. They had matching bruises.
The teacher walked past them. She eyed both children's arms critically, but refrained from asking, thinking that abuse is impossible in such a small town.
At lunch the girl and the boy sat together and talked. Both were happy for the first time since they could remember.
They walked home together. The boy's parents had moved into the house next to the girl's. They talked through the window until the girl's mother entered the room, angry that the girl was leaning out of the window. She angrily grabbed the little girl's arms and forced her to look at her. In the process straining the girl's already sore neck.
Neighbours heard strange noises but shook their heads and turned of their lights, happily going to sleep. Only a boy's light remained on, green eyes focused on the window. Sometimes he would see her staring at him, reassuring him with her beautiful brown eyes.
The noises stopped when morning came. The boy was still looking at the window. A single whimper escaped the bedroom of the girl before all went still.
The police would find a small, broken body in the girl's bedroom, died from exhaustion, bloodloss and strain on the neck. Jail would find herself a woman extra. And the graveyard found itself filled with rueful teachers and sorrowed students, surrounded the grave of a beautiful brown-haired girl that died before she knew how to live.
No one noticed the bronze-haired boy with green eyes that stood besides the grave. No one noticed when he smiled at the name before turning and walking through the sea of teary-eyed adults.
No one noticed when the girl and boy hugged before turning to their group of friends. Children who died as them.
Rosalie Lillian Hale, who was abused by her brothers for being their parent's favourite in a time when woman were not of importance.
Emmett McCarty, who died under the strain of caring for six little brothers when his parent's didn't.
Jasper Whitlock, who was murdered by his father for not following his believes.
Mary Alice Brandon, who died when undergoing Electric Shock Therapy for seeing things that would happen.
And the girl's bronze-haired friend, who, after hearing the girl's last sound, lost all will to live and died under his father's next beating.
They all turned to smile at each other. Finally, after all these years, they were loved. They were needed. They were happy.
And so it happened that Isabella Marie Swan and Edward Anthony Mason looked at the sundown, hand-in-hand, a smile on their faces and a happy glint in their eyes for the first time since birth.