Paperback Writer
The Girl
The Girl
There was a girl walking down the street in the middle of winter. She pulled her jacket tightly around her for warmth against the harsh cold. Each breath she took was visible in the winter air. She trudged through an inch of freshly fallen snow.
By al outward appearances she seemed an average teenage girl. Her auburn hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail. She did manage to stick out in the snow with her all black clothing.
She looked troubled as she walked onward, a vacant look on her face. Some may wonder what had happened to her, but most never bother. Too busy in their own world to care about a girl walking down the street in the middle of winter.
The girl was troubled. She did have a problem. She wanted to tell someone but no one was there for her, no one ever was. One small tear fell down her face and onto the freshly fallen snow.
Have you ever felt like life has given up on you? Like if you died right then and there no one would notice, no one would care. That is what the troubled girl thought about as she walked down the street in the middle of winter. Life had not dealt her a great hand.
When we feel depressed or upset we always have someone to talk to. A friend. A mother. A father. A brother. A sister. A grandparent. An aunt. An uncle. Someone cares for you. Sadly, the girl has no one. She is alone in the world.
The street was not a busy one. A small, quaint residential sidewalk. Every few minutes the occasional car or two passed. The girl questioned life itself. Is it still worth living? Does she even deserve it anymore?
She has been alone most of her life. Her mother died during conception. Her brother overdosed three years ago. Earlier that day, she came home to find her father, the only one left, with a gun in his hand and an emptied bottle of booze at his side and a hole in his head.
That is her trouble. That is why she is on this walk in the middle of winter. That is why silent tears continue to fall down her pale face. That is why she is screaming on the inside for someone to help her. No one answered.
The sun was fading in the distance. The cold deepened and intensified with a vicious bite. She shoved her small, frozen hands in her pockets.
Two headlights from a white Mercedes brightened her path. Adrenaline coursed it’s way through her dwindling veins. She had given up on everything. As the car sped up, she walked into the middle of the street.
The cold, metallic frame of the car brazed her pale flesh. Her life flashed before her eyes, none of the memories warm or heartfelt. A horn blared. Bones crunched. Skin shred. Red was everywhere. The girl hit the ground with force.
Red on the snow. Red on the car. Red on the girl’s clothes and pouring out of her mouth. A car door slammed. A voice screamed. Neighbors formed a crowd surrounding the girl. People cried. No one knew her. No one had seen her. They did not know her tragic life.
A young boy clutched onto his mother’s dress. She tried her best to comfort her son but it was to no avail. Blaring red lights and sirens appeared in a few minutes time. They checked the girls vital signs only confirming what was obvious. They placed her in a bag, zipped her up and shipped her off.
When the problems are ours they seem like they are immense. When we feel bad we think the whole world should feel bad. When something goes wrong in our world it is the end of the world.
The girl’s life was hard. She could have made it. If someone would have talked to her she would still be alive, not riding in the back of an ambulance on her way to the morgue.
One thing was true. The world did not stop moving. Life goes on. No one cared about the girl walking down the street in the middle of winter clutching her jacket for warmth. In the end, she was just a girl.
There was a girl walking down the street in the middle of winter. She pulled her jacket tightly around her for warmth against the harsh cold. Each breath she took was visible in the winter air. She trudged through an inch of freshly fallen snow.
By al outward appearances she seemed an average teenage girl. Her auburn hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail. She did manage to stick out in the snow with her all black clothing.
She looked troubled as she walked onward, a vacant look on her face. Some may wonder what had happened to her, but most never bother. Too busy in their own world to care about a girl walking down the street in the middle of winter.
The girl was troubled. She did have a problem. She wanted to tell someone but no one was there for her, no one ever was. One small tear fell down her face and onto the freshly fallen snow.
Have you ever felt like life has given up on you? Like if you died right then and there no one would notice, no one would care. That is what the troubled girl thought about as she walked down the street in the middle of winter. Life had not dealt her a great hand.
When we feel depressed or upset we always have someone to talk to. A friend. A mother. A father. A brother. A sister. A grandparent. An aunt. An uncle. Someone cares for you. Sadly, the girl has no one. She is alone in the world.
The street was not a busy one. A small, quaint residential sidewalk. Every few minutes the occasional car or two passed. The girl questioned life itself. Is it still worth living? Does she even deserve it anymore?
She has been alone most of her life. Her mother died during conception. Her brother overdosed three years ago. Earlier that day, she came home to find her father, the only one left, with a gun in his hand and an emptied bottle of booze at his side and a hole in his head.
That is her trouble. That is why she is on this walk in the middle of winter. That is why silent tears continue to fall down her pale face. That is why she is screaming on the inside for someone to help her. No one answered.
The sun was fading in the distance. The cold deepened and intensified with a vicious bite. She shoved her small, frozen hands in her pockets.
Two headlights from a white Mercedes brightened her path. Adrenaline coursed it’s way through her dwindling veins. She had given up on everything. As the car sped up, she walked into the middle of the street.
The cold, metallic frame of the car brazed her pale flesh. Her life flashed before her eyes, none of the memories warm or heartfelt. A horn blared. Bones crunched. Skin shred. Red was everywhere. The girl hit the ground with force.
Red on the snow. Red on the car. Red on the girl’s clothes and pouring out of her mouth. A car door slammed. A voice screamed. Neighbors formed a crowd surrounding the girl. People cried. No one knew her. No one had seen her. They did not know her tragic life.
A young boy clutched onto his mother’s dress. She tried her best to comfort her son but it was to no avail. Blaring red lights and sirens appeared in a few minutes time. They checked the girls vital signs only confirming what was obvious. They placed her in a bag, zipped her up and shipped her off.
When the problems are ours they seem like they are immense. When we feel bad we think the whole world should feel bad. When something goes wrong in our world it is the end of the world.
The girl’s life was hard. She could have made it. If someone would have talked to her she would still be alive, not riding in the back of an ambulance on her way to the morgue.
One thing was true. The world did not stop moving. Life goes on. No one cared about the girl walking down the street in the middle of winter clutching her jacket for warmth. In the end, she was just a girl.