There is a girl lying in a coffin. Her expression is so serene! Such a peaceful sleep, she appears to be happy. She couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen. In the blush of youth, she had just transformed from girl to woman, from moth to butterfly. But hers was not a natural death. Amidst such beauty was pain unseen.
She lay there dressed in a simple white gown. it was made of a simple cotton, in an empire style. Were she to awake and walk, it would flow with the breeze. As the folds of the skirt pooled around her, they caressed her body gently.
Her feet were bare, displaying the scars and callouses from years of running barefoot. Here, a broken toe. There, a scare. So young and ugly, the feet were a beautiful reminder of the joy of youth.
her pale arms were folded across her stomach, her hands clasped around a single red rose. Her hands were gentle, but had known the meaning of work. Her nails were bitten short, but clean. Callouses revealed hours of playing hard, as well as working hard. Long, elegant fingers clasped the stem, oblivious of the thorns. What were these, compared to those?
Her face, as mentioned before, was serene, as if she had expected this untimely end. Long black lashes hooded hazel eyes. Once full of life, they were now hidden from sight. her nose was pert, almost upturned. Freckles splashed her face. her lips, small and naturally bright, blended into a slight smile. Once rosy cheeks now faded from sight. Her long black hair splayed around her head in waves, hinting at life.
Then, in the midst of such beautiful anguish, she sat up and screamed.