.
She runs home like a mad woman, her messy hair in the wind like the untamable mane of a lion, her feet rhythmically hitting the soft earth of the ground, thud, thud, stomp, stomp. There are tears gathering up in her eyes and pain written all over her childish face, like a disturbingly ruined art work of a famous Greek artist. As she nears the wide wooden gate of her huge house, her pace quickens, her legs flying rather than running, trying to carry her little heart away from her life's misery and sorrow. Her long fingers tremble as she raises her hand to ring the bell. Sweat trickles down her forehead, mixing with salty tears which finally start rolling down her rosy cheeks. Voices of girls whom she used to call friends ring in her ears, ebbing her vision away from her. "No wonder she killed herself, if I was her mother I would too"
Her heart aches. There's pain from the buried past resurfacing itself, hurt of long-gone memories arising within her weeping chest,all flooding her with overwhelming emotion. Betrayal. Hurt. Pain. Agony. Nostalgia. Grief. There's something else in her chest too, stinging her bosom continuously, something strange and unknown, a feeling she doesn't know how to name.
