A girl stares at the darkening sky and the growing clouds with resentment. Another night of clinging to cold brick walls and hoping to avoid cold splatters of rain. People walk by, ignoring her small, helpless frame. She cries for help, just a penny or two. But they ignore, or push her away. Laughing as she falls into a puddle of questionable muck.
She shakes the filthy drops from her skin, shivering against the cold slap of wind. A glint of determination in her eye as she resumes the task of begging. But each time she is shoved to the ground, it gets harder to stand up. Less people are visible to her as the darkness closes in.
All she can feel is anger. Fury at the cruel throw of dice fate has dealt her. Now when people approach her she shows nothing. She knows its pointless. She ignored their coins, her stubborn pride despising their pitying glances.
A part of her knows it's dumb, to cut herself off. But it's safer, no hurt or disappointment. She ignores her stomachs need for food. Her skins needs for heat. Her hearts need for tears. She's too proud now, her skin grown too thick. She doesn't know how to respond to the people who stop and offer help.
She only knows to back away from their caring touch. To run and be alone. Even if the rain is pouring all around and inside her. She shows nothing, a mask to be rivalled. Another caring hand reaches for her and she runs, unable to see where the lines of her past end and the present begins. Unable to separate two opposite memories. Where one was cruel and manipulative and the other kind and gentle.