The Story Of The Delicate Jumbled Heap.

She was on the floor. She was still delicate in her jumbled heap, but you have to admit she was on the floor. Her face was covered by jet black hair but you could still see the bruises.
Her clothes, although not designer were still flattering and pretty, even when she was on the floor.
The grass around her fallen body seemed to want to touch her and carress her.
She paid no attention to the fetal position she had left imprinted on the grass that wanted to stroke her as she pushed herself up looking around the unfamiliar place.
She must of banged her head, it was morning.
The last thing she remembered seemed completely insignificant.
She remembered doing her make-up in her full length gothic mirror. Her liquid eyeliner sprawled in beautiful patterns around her, like it was a dream, then suddenly the patterns went inky as if water had been added to them and engulfed her in thier colourless almost sticky but still fluent ooze.
She rubbed her eyes, only to feel instant sharp throbbing pain. She dabbed her face softly with the tips of her fingers and then pulled them away, slight swelling and round cheek there was a cut, obviously, blood.
She looked around, from what she could muster she was at the local park forest area. She wandered to where the tree's thinned out and the sun was brighter.
As she steadily stood on the marshy grass occassionally leaning on the ancient trees for purchase she realised she couldn't hear anything.
She couldn't hear her feet on the ground. She couldn't hear her own breathing. She couldn't hear children playing on what she knew were near by swings and slides. She couldn't hear birds.
She shouted aloud and saw dark shadowy fingures moving in the break of trees but she couldn't hear her plea's.
Overwhelmed by panic and fear she sat down and she wept on the floor. She was once again on the floor. She was still, even sobbing, delicate in her jumbled uncontrollable heap, but you have to admit she was on the floor. Her face was covered by jet black hair,  but you could still see the bruises.
Her clothes, although not designer were still flattering and pretty, even when she was on the floor.
The grass around her fallen body seemed to want to touch her and carress her, which suddenly made her feel very dirty.
She didn't want to be touched again. Ever.
A snippet of her memory came back to her again.
It was of a party, everyone there had blank faces, blurred out features but dark holes where there eyes should be.
There was another girl there who grabbed her hand and took her through lots of doorways and archways until she was completely lost and completely lost. The room was pink with gold tit-bits all around it, giving it almost a magical wonderlike feeling. Suddenly she herself was wearing a candystriped blue dress and her make-up was no longer subtle and beautiful but more harsh and clownlike. She was lead by the faceless girl in the purple dress through a curtained door, where she was in a large clear tent, surrounded by very tall people. She looked up there noses which looked large enough to fit a fist inside them.
Again she pushed herself out of the fetal position carelessly pushing the tears from her eyes quite brutally on her puffy painful skin.
The cloudiness of her teary vision made her doubt her surroundings. Suddenly the forest which she had grown up in, calling her den, playing truth or dare in, having her first marshmellows over the campfire experience, also her first drink happened in these woods, and her first "second-base" experience. She needed to get a grip, things like this didnt happen to girls like her.
She was pretty.
Stunning in fact, she was never short of friends and definatley never short of boyfriends. Although she was only twenty two, she had always been chosen for lead roles in school, college and university, she had also been scouted in the street, more than once.
Her looks were a clean porcilean english rose look, her jet black hair against her opaque milky skin was a stunning contrast and slightly upturned hazel eyes and full innocent looking deep pink lips were full of silent promises of kisses and wonderful stories tales and antidotes, they were the kind of lips people wanted to listen to, to be close to, to make smile. Her lips made people want to be approved by her, welcomed.
She stumbled slowly towards the opening in the forest and the first person she saw was a little girl running after a puppy. The little girl looked up at her, she noted the horror in the girls face and tried to force a smile through her dry cracked lips, which only seemed to cause her pain and scare the little girl more with her wincing face.
She saw the girl mouth "Mummy" And then turn on her heel and run in the opposite direction.
She said "Please don't leave" Feebley, and couldn't hear her own voice anyway, so wasn't sure what she had said anyway, and before she knew it she was on the floor. She was still delicate in her jumbled heap, but you have to admit she was on the floor. Her face was covered by jet black hair but you could still see the bruises.
Her clothes, although not designer were still flattering and pretty, even when she was on the floor.
The grass around her fallen body seemed to want to touch her and carress her.
She let it envelope and carress her as she rested.

The End

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