One Night

Edit: 6th October 2011

This story is perhaps the worst that I have ever written. Potentially all it shows is me sucking up to someone who was not worth my time. The date is fictitious, I never ended up meeting the guy. 

As the challenge itself was a wonderful one I think I will re-do this challenge with no one in mind. Maybe I'll be able to come up with something far less terrible. 

Story Challenge 5

 

Write a story from your point of view about your perfect date with the love of your life. The date can be anywhere and anything you like, from dinner to mountain hiking.

*swooning*

I just got home from a date. Yes, I know, me of all people on a date! The person who always says she'd never get asked out on a date, finally got asked out!
I was so nervous. I mean I have known him a while and I adore him. He makes me laugh even when I don't really feel like laughing. I'm not your average woman, this makes me terribly giddy and my knees go weak.

Oh, when he asked me, it was wonderful. My dear came up to me and took my hand, he then looked into my eyes and asked me softly, sweetly, if I would go on a date with him. I was dumbstruck by his kindness and the thoughtful way he asked me. My knees decided to turn to jelly and my friendly butterflies that live in my tummy thought it would be fun to play tag! I think I looked like a goldfish, standing their with his hand holding mine, my brain unable to catch up to my opening and closing mouth. When I finally did get to speak I whispered "I would be honoured!" I don't know why I turn into a formal brat when someone shows me kindness, however in this instance it added to the beauty of the moment.

He wouldn't tell me where we were going, only that I didn't need to dress up or wear anything other than what I'd usually wear. This served to make me weary, why wouldn't I need to dress up? Omg, was he only going to take me to McDonald's or something? These thoughts only lasted about five minutes before I was reduced to tears of laughter. He knew that I wouldn't want to have dinner or anything on our date, he knew that I would be uncomfortable with these things. Here is the part where I started to get really excited!

It was 8 o'clock when I heard his soft knock at the door. Skipping, I left my room and went to let him in. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw him, I couldn't resist wrapping him up in a hug, softly placing a kiss on his smiling lips. Apparently he felt as I did because he held me tightly and definitely didn't stop me from kissing him.

*swoons*

We ended up at his house, sitting on the balcony watching all the drunk people (yes, even as early as 9pm) flash us, pash each other and do other generally stupid things. We laughed and made up stories as to why they were doing these things. He looked at me often and told me I was beautiful, it didn't even matter that I didn't believe him, it was just a lovely moment and one where I very nearly believed what he said.
We didn't eat a formal dinner or anything so uncomfortable as that, instead he produced some cheese and crackers, some fruit and some chilled water (I don't drink and even if I were writing a story I still wouldn't say champagne because that stuff is terrible!) It was beautiful because he'd listened when I said I was different and I wasn't one of those people who liked expensive dinners and big productions. I couldn't stop smiling. I couldn't settle the butterflies. I loved every minute.

The night went on, it became morning, we'd graduated inside when the rowdy crowd below got too much. The entire night he was a sweet gentleman never once pushing me, expecting something or even saying anything that would make me uncomfortable. He was so kind and considerate of my crazy ways. I couldn't ask for anyone better in my life.
We did go to bed, not the way you think! He hugged me and I him and we slept, there was something intimate about it without being sexual. A foundation strong foundation was laid last night. I trust him. I adore him.

*swooning*

The Magick of Ink

Story challenge number 3. 

She is now your main character, use her in a short story.

My name is Ashlee and I am not human.

Okay, okay, so there needs to be a little more information here than simply saying I'm not human. Well here goes. Most of you reading this won't believe what I tell you so, for you, this will only be a story. For those of you who do believe, this will be an adventure!

I'm not human, as I have said. Instead I am a faerie. However, we don't really like being called "faeries" as we prefer the title Fae. You see the Fae are real and do in fact live among humans! It's shocking, I know, it took nearly a century to learn that I inhabit the world with humans, with mortals. These days I've grown rather fond of humans as they constantly surprise me and are a great source of entertainment. I'm sorry, you are.

Anyway, I've been asked, by a human no less, to tell my story. I pondered this idea for a while as I have never been comfortable talking about my life. For one thing you humans have a lot of trouble understanding that I'm over 100 years old and simply don't believe that anything other than humans exist. You know, it's very sad really when you consider all the amazing things that are around you. Have you ever just stopped to look at the trees? Perhaps you've stopped and pondered the mysteries of the stars? Never mind if you haven't, you can always start to pay attention now. I've spent most of my life fascinated with my surroundings and trying to learn the "why" of everything. Due to this confession I admit that an entire account of my life would be terribly boring! After many weeks of soul searching, and trying to decide the most witty and intelligent story I could come up with, I have decided to share with you a particular day that stands out in my memory.

Like most good stories the sun was shining and the birds were singing, the wind was humming through the leaves. Oh come on, don't look at me like that! I am allowed to have some creative flair, it's my story after all. Okay, okay, if you will quit looking at me like that I'll tell you what the day really started like.

As the Fae like to rise with the sun it wasn't uncommon for me to wake up a little before dawn to the sounds of the forest around me. You would be surprised how many creatures wake up before the sun! I unzipped my sleeping bag and wiggled out of it, searching around for my shirt. I pulled it over my head and crawled to the front of my tent, locating the zip and crawling out of the opening into the crisp morning air. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings and was surprised when I noticed my friends were already awake. I decided they must be organising something for me, after all it was my birthday.
I lightly padded over to my friends to greet them with morning cheer when a delightful smell caught on the breeze. Oh my, they were making my favourite breakfast; pancakes!
Cheering loudly, I skipped the last few steps to an empty chair set up in our makeshift kitchen area and curled my legs underneath me as I sat down. I smiled the biggest, if slightly cheesy, smile I could at my dear friends.

The morning progressed with the eating of pancakes, laughter and some fantastically outrageous stories of birthday's past. In part it's a tradition to remind one another of our past to help keep our minds sharp. Unlike humans the Fae are intelligent beyond measurement and possess great physical advantages that humans can not comprehend. As such we need to train both our minds and bodies constantly.

My friends and I had arranged to meet our tribe elder for lunch at the little café on the corner of our street back home, so we set about packing up the campsite and making our way back into town.
It took us about 30 minutes to hike back and arrive at the cafe. We spotted our elder and she smiled her lovely, heart warming smile which made the four of us beam at her in return. She had already ordered us coffee knowing that we would need it. Then she began to tell us the story of our tribe and the tattoo each person in our tribe gets upon reaching adulthood. She rolled up her sleeve to show us the elaborate tattoo that I was informed I'd get that day.
I remember looking at her arm with admiration, the colours, the subtlety of the artwork and yet the significance of it took my breath away. I couldn't wait to get my tattoo.

We wrapped up the coffee's and our elder told my friends to go off while she and I went to a little tattoo shop that was conveniently close to the cafe and yet I had never noticed it before. Our elder took my hand as we went inside.
I stepped into another world. It was amazing, the magick that came alive in this shop. There were humans in the tattoo parlour, but it was obvious they couldn't see nor sense the magick swirling around us. I breathed in the atmosphere feeling light headed and excited. I watched as our elder spoke with the shop owner, who smiled at me as he saw me taking in the wonder and magcik. I recognised him from tribe meetings and instinctually knew he wound use the old ways to create the magnificence of the tribe tattoo on my arm.
He waved me over to the counter, took my hand and smiled knowingly. He could feel the power I would inherit and he was pleased to be the person honouring me with ink.
We walked around to the back of the shop, to his cubicle where he would perform his magick. I felt the first tendrils of excitement and fear whirl in my stomach.

I sat down and he cleaned my arm, the alcohol swipe feeling cool against my skin. He set up his station and before I knew it the sound of the gun was humming and he began his careful drawing on my skin. The scratching on my skin ignited an internal fire and I could see the magick in vibrant vivid colours around me. I watched the magick dancing around, I watched him weave a pattern of fire and phoenixes of strength and courage.

Before long the magick was done, the work of art complete. I looked down and shocked, I had the whole sleeve done! He knew what I wanted and he knew that I wanted to have the entire story of our tribe history. I smiled at him, radiating the warmth I felt inside for this amazing artist who had turned my arm into the most wonderful work of art I had ever beheld.
He took me back out to our elder and she smiles at me warmly and told me she had another surprise for me.

Taking my hand she led me on a long walk down to the next suburb, she took me into a gallery. Another place full of magick and wonder. But this story is one for another time.

So there you have it. A glimpse into the life of a magenta haired, tattooed Fae. You can decide if it's a story or if my account is real. For now, it's approaching dawn and I need to stretch my legs.

Fearless on my Breath

AN: Challenge #2
'Teardrop' by Massive Attack. Respond.

This one is wide open! Just listen to the song and write something in response to the music.

This one is really about letting someone else's art inspire you to something! So go forth and conquer my friend!

Sitting softly on the cool dew tipped grass, she watches the sun rising in the ambient sky. The beautiful colours bringing with it a calm and excitement that makes her whole body ache with wonder. She has been watching the sunrise everyday for as long as she can remember. It is her time of the day, it is when she connects with something other than herself. The fire of the sun ignites a fire within her.

She doesn't realise she is being watched by the staff, she never feels their eyes penetrating her back. She looks up at the sky, the darkness on one side, the light fighting against the darkness taking ever more of the sky. She smiles as she witnesses this epic battle.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

She is outside, the wind playfully tugging at her hair. She feels a hand on hers and she looks at the owner of the hand. Her face lights up as a smile begins to take hold; she came. The hand slightly tightens its grip on hers making her heart beat in time with the pressure and release of the delicate hand. The woman holding her hand smiles in return, shining brighter than the sun in her memory. The women sit together, talking, dreaming, they watch the sun rise.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

She lowers her head and looks at her pale hands nestled in her lap. A tear escapes from her eyes and runs freely over her cheek. The smile from bygone days still lingers around the edges of her mouth. Slowly she raises her head again and watches as the sun continues it's gallant journey higher into the sky. She imagines the fire burning, lighting the path ahead. The sun winks at her, she lowers her eyes a little in acknowledgement.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

The woman says she has to go away for a while. She looks at the other woman, her eyes pleading, begging, screaming not to be left alone. Her face is understanding and she encourages the other woman to continue. The woman explains more about the impending separation, recounting a story from her past and how this story is important now. She listens carefully but is afraid to speak, lest her voice give away her true feelings. The woman says goodbye, hugs her and wishes her well. The woman is gone. She sits alone.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

Another tear escapes from her eye, this time the sun dries the tear as it makes its escape. She raises her eyes and silently thanks the sun for its kindness. Slowly she stands up. It is time now.
She stands still a moment, watching the sun rise higher still, then she takes one step and then another.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

The mirror doesn't lie, it doesn't know how to. Instead it remains, ready to tell the viewer the truth. The mirror shows no remorse as it doesn't understand that there is more to a reflection than what one sees. The mirror waits for her.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

Step after step she makes her way back inside, bidding a fearful goodbye to her friendly sun. She enters the building and feels the coldness surround her but she keeps walking to her room. She still marvelled at the thought it was "her room". How many others had thought the same thing before her? She passes some staff, they ignore her, while she keeps her steady pace and walks towards her room.
She finally reaches her door and slides her hand over the doorknob, feeling the cold steel beneath her small soft hands. The door opens at her touch and she walks into her room, glancing at the mirror covered in fabric before walking to her favourite chair by the window. She could no longer see the sun directly, but she could see the effect of the sun waking up the world. She watched the world wake, ignoring the mirror.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

The mirror shrieks as the cracks begin to chase each other. Suddenly the pieces are lying at her feet, the mirror stops shrieking and lays on the ground in silence. She stares at the remains wondering why the reflection was as broken as the glass. The confession dances around her subconscious, never letting her grab it entirely, merely playing with her. She sighs, another tear rolls sedately down her cheek, as she picks up the broken pieces.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

The world has woken up now and she realises that she needs to wake up as well. She stands and regretfully turns her back on the window. She steps lightly on the carpet over to the hidden mirror, takes a corner of the material, which she draped over it upon her arrival, and pulls. The material falls away and glides to the floor; more debris at her feet.
She keeps her eyes downcast as the fear rises inside her, yet she remains outwardly calm. She raises her head then lifts her eyes to look in the mirror. The shock makes her stumble a little. Stumbling a little.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.
thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

She sees herself in the mirror. There is nothing horrible there, the lies she had told herself fall away like the broken glass of her memories. The tears fall freely down her cheeks as she stares at the woman in the mirror. The woman smiles at her and reaches out her hand. Gasping she tries to reach the woman, tries to bring the woman back to her.
Black flowers blossom at the edge of her vision as she finally touches the woman. Her heart explodes with joy, her breath is fearlessly calm and her eyes shine from the fire within. She is complete.

thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump. thump-thump thump-thump.

The Ugly Side of Pretty

It has been three years since I last saw him and yet the wounds he inflicted are still bleeding.

When I met him I thought he was wonderful. He would make me laugh with his dry humour and his intelligent banter. I found it a delight to be able to have a conversation without the need to explain the "big words". I felt important and good because I was able to show a side of myself I usually hide.

We were friends for at least a year. We'd hang out, laugh and talk about silly things always in a very high brow and snobby way!!! It was fun being able to have our own little jokes at things. I felt special and kind of important during these laid back and easy times. Then one day it all changed.

He told me that he really liked me and he wanted to have a "deeper" relationship with me. I was shocked. I can't say I wasn't attracted to him, because I was, but I also knew that he was married and I was not the kind of woman to ever get involved with a married man. I told him of my reservations and that while I liked him too I would not be willing to be more than friends. He seemed to accept this and was even pleased that I was not trying to get more out of him than friendship. I thought, wrongly, the conversation was over and wouldn't be raised again.

A few months went by and he started hinting at a relationship that was more than friends. At first I ignored these advances because I assumed he was testing me. After all, I wasn't the only one who had been burnt in the past by people lying. He kept getting more and more persistent and finally I had to ask him if he was serious. He confessed his undying love for me and how he wished he'd met me before his wife. I was shocked. He has three kids with his wife! Two of which were newborn twins!! How could he say this to me?
As horrible as it felt, I was flattered that he would want to be with me. I mean I knew that I was nothing special, not a catch at all. That's mainly why I was happy to just be friends, I knew I would never really have a chance.

I didn't speak with him for a while after that day. I was confused and angry that I would even entertain these crazy ideas of being with him. I had morals. I had dignity. I just wasn't that kind of woman to be in a relationship with someone who was already in a relationship and, worse still, married. It's wrong, so very wrong. I hated myself from that moment, I can see now it was during that time of not speaking with him that I had made my decision.

The next time we talked we were talking about being together. I can still feel part of me dying when I think about it now. I was sitting there, next to him, looking into his warm brown eyes, looking at his short hair flecked with grey, looking at the person who was unattainable and yet he was there, with me. When he kissed me I didn't pull away. I enjoyed the feel of his lips against mine, I enjoyed the electricity that sparked and flared between us. I enjoyed that it was wrong and I desperately told myself that it was okay. It was all going to be okay.

We were almost inseparable after that day. We talked all the time, shared secrets, hurts, joys and laughter. We shared dreams, we shared ideas and we shared experiences. It was what I'd always wanted, someone to share in my life and theirs. Yet I felt dirty and ugly and horrible, but also amazing and loved and wanted. I was so confused. I was so young. I was so naive.

It was six months later when he proposed we go on a trip together. He had to work interstate and claimed he didn't want to be without me for that long. I knew it was wrong, I knew that every time I saw him I was dying a little more inside, but I just couldn't help it, he said he loved me. I needed someone to love me and tell me that they actually needed me. I believed him when he said all those things to me. He said them so well. He brainwashed me so, of course, I said I would go on the trip with him. Part of me was so excited! Another part of me was dreading being alone with him for a week. I never thought to question why I would feel dread, I just assumed I would feel dread no matter who it was.

The next month was the trip, he picked me up and we drove interstate. I was so giddy I thought I would burst. We talked and laughed just as we always had before. This time, however, I noticed that something wasn't quite right. I couldn't tell if it was me or if it was "us". I just knew it wasn't right. There was no need to talk with him about it, I knew he felt as guilty as I did that we were doing this behind the world's back. Eventually I got the feeling under control and enjoyed myself that first day, I think he did too in the end.
It wasn't to last, nothing bad that feels good ever lasts.

After getting to the motel I began to feel increasingly uneasy. There was something strangling me, twisting and writhing inside my stomach trying to escape. I felt so sick I could barely breathe. I spent the night curled up on the floor of bathroom writhing in pain and crying because I was such a weak, horrible person. I was to be hated and despised and I knew, I just knew, that everyone else could see the disgusting being that I was.
He slept that night in the bed, I could hear him snoring, I could hear him tossing and turning. I resented him for his callousness. I knew he heard me crying before he fell asleep, I knew because he knocked on the door and asked me if I was alright. I said I was and that was the end of the conversation.

This repeated every night of the trip. I was suddenly faced with a startling realisation. He had lied to me. He didn't really love me, he didn't even care about me. He left me to wallow in my misery and face this fear alone. By the fifth night I had cried so much I was dehydrated and lacked energy. I just lay on the floor of the bathroom, staring up at the ceiling, pretending I was home and safe. I wanted so much to make the last 8 months disappear. I wanted to go back to being the woman I thought I was, I wanted to go back to being naive and innocent. I wanted my dignity back. I wanted my life back. I decided on that last night I wouldn't see him anymore. I would tell him after he'd taken me home as I was terrified of being stranded interstate. I knew that the only way I would stop crying would be to just walk away. I also already knew that he wouldn't be with me even if I wanted to stay together, not after this trip. It was over.

We drove back the next day, mostly in silence as I was still feeling very high strung and sensitive. He dropped me off at my house, he had already separated from me during the trip home. I walked up the stairs to my apartment, opened the door and fell inside the threshold. I had been on autopilot that whole time but after opening the door, I was catapulted into the present. I felt everything. I felt the anger at having been used. I felt the embarrassment of going against my morals. I felt dirty. I could feel my skin crawling with millions of bugs and I couldn't get them off no matter how hard I tried. I crawled to the shower, pulled myself up and somehow turned the water on. I stepped into the shower, the hot water washing off the bugs crawling over my skin. The bugs wouldn't let go of my skin, they tore at my clothes making them heavy and wet, or maybe that was the water?
I don't know how long I was standing in the shower for. I think my tears ran out long after the hot water did.

Now it's three years later. I still feel the dirt on my skin, the shame on my face and the label that hangs over my head. I will never forgive myself for ignoring my morals, for ignoring what I knew was wrong. I look back at that time three years ago and I cringe from being that woman. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see her, that dirty, slutty and whore-ish woman. She smiles back at me, taunting me, teasing me with her lack of care and consideration. I want to make her go away. I just don't know how.

Photograph

AN: I was asked to write a story by one of my friends. She gave me some rules to follow. They are as follows:

1. Write a descriptive piece from your characters point of view.
2. No dialogue.
3. You must use the words - Blue, Crease, Lament, Safe.
4. You may use any derivative of the word (ie. lamented, lamenting, laments) as long as the world holds it's original meaning... so increase would not be allowed.
5. You can make this story as long or as short as you like and it can be set anywhere, and in any time period.

==================================================


It has been a long time since I held this picture in my hand. I must have been a child, just about to start school for the first time when my mother showed me the picture. Back then it was new and glossy and perfect, unlike now. There is a small tear on the bottom right and a large crease that spreads across every face. In certain light the crease takes on an evil persona, almost angrily twisting and writhing it's way across the faded faces.

This picture was the last thing my mother ever gave me. She kissed my forehead as we got to the gates of my school and then she was gone. Just like that. Of course, at the time I didn't know she wouldn't be home later, I didn't know that the police would come to my school and collect me like some discarded rubbish.

The last memory I have of my mother was the sweet smell of her perfume and the blue blouse she was wearing. It was my favourite one, I would sit in her lap and cuddle her, resting my cheek against the soft silk of that pale blue blouse and listen to her gentle breathing. She would run her delicate hand through my long hair and sing the celtic songs of her childhood. Those memories are all I have left of my mother and I lament her being taken so forcibly from my young life.

The next few months were a blur for me. A shift of colour to dull black, grey and white. Even now, all these years later, I wake up from terrible nightmares of my time at the home.

After my mother was gone, the police took me to St Anne's Orphanage. However no one called it St Anne's. No, not even the Head Mistress. St Anne's Orphanage was simply known to all as the Home.
There was a short broken path leading from the rusty front gate to the barely hinged front door. I can still feel the policeman's vice-like grip on my wrist as I desperately tried to run away from the sight of the evil looking house. It had huge gaping eyes, glinting evilly in the midday sun. The barren front yard was nothing but dirt. Not even weeds grew in that dirt yard.
There wasn't even chirping or twittering sounds of birds. At school I would always hear the birds chirping, the crickets humming and I would watch the ants as they marched two by two. The Home had none of these things. It was... dead.

The policeman's partner, the one that wasn't holding my wrist in his tight grip, rang the bell by the huge front door. The hinges were so rusted on that massive door I remember wondering if the door would even open. Secretly I hoped it wouldn't so that I would be safe from having to live there.
Less than half a minute later my worst nightmare began. The door opened slowly almost as if the person on the other side didn't have the strength to pull it open. Finally, it swung the last few creaking feet and there stood a solid, mean looking lady. I had trouble believing she couldn't open the door, so I looked from her to the door a few times until I understood just how thick that door was. No one would escape the Home. The solid lady looked down at me with the nastiest scowl I had ever seen. I felt her contempt flow over me like waves crashing again rocks. My breath left my little body while my knees turned to rubber. The last thing I saw before the world went dark was the evil woman's face continuing to scowl at me.

I look down at the picture in my shaking hands feeling a lone tear steal its way down cheek. The Home proved to be a torturous place for young children. Or maybe just for me?
The contempt ridden lady would become known to me as the Head Mistress. She ran the Home and expected every child to do exactly as she said, all the time. The Home was perpetually quiet, no laughter rang through the main hall, no giggling in the bedrooms nor any sounds of children playing with balls or even toys.  The only sounds were the creaks and whines of the old wood beneath our little stockinged feet as was walked in pairs to and from the dining hall.

I spent 12 years in that cold and unloving house before I was old enough to leave. No one ever adopted the children that went to the Home. It was common knowledge in the town that we were all unruly, undisciplined and unscrupulous children and that we were undoubtedly the spawn of Satan. Head Mistress started those rumours herself during a drunken diatribe at the local tavern and continued preaching about how awful we were until the day she drank herself to death.
The people my mother and I knew before she left developed some kind of amnesia as they did not know, or couldn't remember, who I was. My whole identity had be ripped away from me. I was only a child and they took my innocence away. I spent many nights crying over lost friends, lost family and other childhood dreams that I suddenly realised would no longer apply to me. So it was that my childhood ended when I was 6 years old.

Head Mistress would not let any of us keep any of our  possessions, instead she insisted we store them in boxes up in the attic. Each child had their own box, she even let us decorate our boxes with shiny pieces of paper, lace and old bits of chocolate wrappers. I spent every moment I was allowed to decorating that box. Head Mistress once said that if I worked that hard on a box I should work that hard on my arithmetic. I always answered her with a smile and a nod, hoping she would never notice me enough to send me to the special room.

I turn the photo over and notice small spidery writing on the back. That's strange, I've never noticed it before. I thought I had looked at every inch of this photo. Surely I could not have missed something as important as this?
I search around my cramped apartment searching for my magnifying glass. I was using it yesterday so where on Earth could it have gone to? Didn't I put it down on the coffee table? No, I must have put it by my bedside table. I run into my bedroom, tripping over the silly carpet that I am yet to fix, some day soon. I spy my magnifying glass lying on my bedside table and hurriedly pick it up as I flop onto my bed bringing the photo and magnifying glass up close to my eye. What does it say? I still can't decipher this writing.

I turn the photo around and around, looking at it from every angle, trying to make sense of the writing. Finally, I turn it once more and the meaning jumps out at me. I smile before fits of laughter take control of me and cause my body to convulse with the force of the laughter. I should have known!

The Darkness Surrounds Her

She is standing in a room full of people. No one sees her. No one hears her crying. No one notices the tears glistening on her cheeks.
All around her there is laughter, chatting and light. Inside she is an empty shell, crying for what was never there.

Someone brushes past her, they shiver as if they just touched something eerily cold. She cries out at the heat of their slight touch. The pain is too much for her to bear. She tries to escape the laughing, happy room but is stuck, chained in the middle. She is not allowed to escape. She must endure the pain, endure their laughing and taunting.

Her crying eases into helpless sobs as the night draws on. She stopped looking at each person, begging them to see her, to release her, to help her. Instead she accepts her torture. Her head hanging forward, her shoulders slumped. She appears nothing more than a husk. The only thing that could save her was knowing that her soul would depart before she went crazy.

A girl suddenly falls over. It looks like she has fainted. A scream ripples through the crowd of partying people. No one recognises the girl. But they know one thing; she is dead. The girl's skin was so pale some in the crowd thought her a ghost. The girl's hair was such a dark black other's thought she must be a raven who had taken on human form. People guessed who she was, where she had come from. None of them ever thought that she was amongst them the whole time. Not one person even knew that she was crying and in pain. The girl was lost to them. The girl was lost to herself.