Duck, Duck, Goose.
She was 10 years old. Her long blonde hair was tied up in two pony-tails and her clothes were muddied and torn. She came to him with snot encrusting her nose, and a bleeding knee. He'd wiped her nose, found some band-aids and kissed her leg better. He'd fixed her.
She was 12 years old. Her hair was all hidden inside her hoodie, the same hoodie that was casting shadows over her face. She came to him with a frown and a lonely soul. He'd gossiped to her, wrapped an arm around her and talked as a friend. He'd fixed her.
She was 14 years old. Her gorgeous locks were long and flowing. She came to him with tears streaked down her cheeks and a broken heart. He pulled her body close to his, held her as she cried warm tears through his shirt, and kissed her hair as she snuffled. He'd fixed her.
She was 16 years old. Her long hair was flat and the makeup from last night had smudged. She came to him with torture in her hollow eyes and a misplaced innocence. He laughed at her, made jokes, shunned her pleas for help. He'd broken her.
And now, he didn't know how to fix her. He could fix her when the problem wasn't him, when he was just an outside third party. But when he was the cause of her pain? Well, he had absolutely no idea how to fix that.
It was like a game of 'Duck Duck Goose' with them. Fix, fix, fix, hurt. Now they just had to see who caught the other first. But until then, they'd be stuck chasing the other or running away in a pointless circle. It was a game, and someone had to loose.
Note: Yes, I realize it didn't make much sense. But it was bothering me so I HAD to write it. And I'm starting posting EVERYTHING I write, so I don't end up with a repeat of a few weeks ago where ALL my writing from the past TWO years gets deleted thanks to a virus, and the day I went to buy disks to back them up.
Even if you hated it, please read and review. Constructive Criticism welcomed…