Whose name I cannot recall, had it in a boyish cut, with light blue eyes, and a small little grin on her face. In a coat twice her size, an ancient t - shirt, and faded blue jeans. The moment after the bell rang, she was gone, no trace. After her homework was done, the day completed, and dinner eaten, she retreated to her room. Small and barren, she had few possessions. She loved to draw. With paper and pencil taken from school, she would draw into the wee hours of the morning. A hard life, not the worst, but certainly not the best. One night, she decided not to draw, but to write. She wrote and she wrote. She poured her heart into those few notebook pages. She threw everything into her bookbag and ran. She never looked back and why should she? A bad life with even worse parents. Although the bruises went away, the torment never would. The girl who's name I cannot recall, was found yesterday in the backyard of some family and had passed away that morning at the grand old age of seventeen and three - quarters.
(Based on a true story.)