She walks to school with the lunch she packed.
Wake up late. Hurriedly dress up. Make some simple and sloppy lunch. Run to school. Same routine every day.
Nobody knows what she's holding back.
As she run, the memories of last night resurfaced. Her eyes stung from unshed tears, but she didn't cry. She refused to cry.
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday.
The jumpsuit was big on her small frame, and it was making running difficult. But it covered up the bruises well. She never changed it.
She hides the bruises with the linen and lace.
Her back, sides, arms and legs hurt from the bruises and last night's abuse, but she ignored the pain. Consider it training, she told herself.
The teacher wonders but he doesn't ask.
She ran into the classroom, apologizing for being late, and tripped. The jumpsuit rode up a little, revealing her lower back. The teacher opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself before he could. He always stopped, always chose to ignore it, thinking of it as injuries from fallin when playing or running around.
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask.
But who could blame him, as she jumped up seconds later, laughing it off. But if one looked closer and listened better, they would see the pain in those eyes and hear the fakeness of the laugh.
Bearing the burden of a secret storm.
No one had to know. No one would even care.
Somezimes she wishes she was never born.
It would have been better if she never existed. Her parents would still be alive, and the villagers would be happier. And they would be just as happy if someone killed her. Or even better, if she took her own life. It would even be easy.
Somebody cries in the middle of the night.
They came again tonight. Barging through the door like they own the place. Some of the already half naked. With the wicked grins pastered on their faces.
Tomorrow is the festival.
The neighbours hear but they turn out the light.
Who would ever help a demon?
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate.
Fate. She hates it. It's cruel, evil. Always playing with people's lives.
When morning comes it will be too late.
Thay left at dawn, off to enjoy the festivities with their families and friends, acting like the most civilised people. She lay there beaten and broken. At least now she'll have some peace, she thought as her eyes cloed and her breathing slowed.
A statue stands in a shaded place.
A few people came to the funeral, all sad and feeling guilty. But their guilt is in wain. It won't bring her back. She's in a better place now.
An angel girl with an upturned face.
She was so strong, standing hard as a stone through the winds and rain. But all stones are someday broken, some sooner than others.
A name is written on the polishe rock.
Uzumaki naruto. Born Otcober 10th. Died at ten years.
A broken heart that the world forgot.
The village moved on. Life went normally, minus one very important life.
Thez will soon see how important and precious the life was.
But her dreams give her wings, and she flies to a place where she's loved.
Two silhouettes. Two figures. Two people. A man and a woman. Two bright, warm smiles. They are waiting for her with open arms. A warm embrace the will never end. No more burdens. No more sadness. No more pain. Just happiness.
Concrete angel.