What are little girls made of?
Caterina Valentine was five when she first learnt that little girls should not enjoy playing in the dirt, and should never ever eat a whole worm- even if Johnny from next door had triple dared her and said he'd be her friend if she did. The worm had made her sick (sicker then the time she had eaten play dough) and her daddy had hit her sharply on the arm and told her that was not what little girls were meant to do.
Sugar and spice
Cat Valentine was 10 when she first learnt that her daddy did not hit her so hard when she was wearing the pretty pink dress that her mummy had insisted she was to buy, so she began to wear it everday and brought a whole wardrobe of girly clothes. The other girls laughed at her and said she looked young, but Cat just smiled and glanced at the fading bruises on her arms.
And everything nice
Cat was fifteen when she first learnt that sometimes it was much much easier to not grow up at all. When her daddy crawled into her bed smelling of stale beer and her brother wouldn't wake up- even when she had screamed and begged in his ears. She'd dyed her hair the following day. Bright red, the colour of velvet cupcakes. Bright red- the colour of blood streaming out from her brother's stab wound.
That's what little girls are made of
Miss Valentine would have been twenty today, reads a small box in the paper. She was a promasing young girl who was always optamistic and brought joy to those around her. But the paper doesn't mention her last descent into madness, her shrill laughter that turned to violent tears. Caterina Valentine never made it to twenty, for she had long ago learnt that at some point little girls had to grow up.
Hope this wan't too bad I just got the urge to write again. You don't have to be a genius to know I don't own Victorious (I would not have let it be cancelled). Thanks for reading sweeties x