The door slammed so hard it didn’t close. The light streamed out, a sliver of warmth across the cold snowy street. The hollow prints, still fresh, the only marks of humanity upon the tranquil scene, and they too were filled one drifting snow flake at a time. Soon all trace would be erased, and by next morning when they found her there would be no hope of recreating those last moments.
More fuss would circle around her, than had ever happened in a day of her life, all save the first. Her birth was one of silent tears, strains, and relief. Shouting would be the one constant in her life, from her very beginning to her last moments on this earth. Never one to yell back, quiet rage slowly built within. She knew her place, and never a day went by she was not reminded. First to last none-withstanding.
Life was hard when she was young, dreams and hopes could not help but flood the clean expanses of her imagination in stark contrast to sewage puddles on the corners that were her nursery. It would be hopeful to say she learned, and learned well, the costs of dreams, but sadly it was a habit she never broke.
Her teenage years were much the same, placing hopes and dreams as olive branch crowns on any passersby who might be the secret to her freedom from the invisible bonds that held her on the street. Her mother lasted until her 17th birthday and then vanished, no one saw, but all knew her fate.
She was destined for greatness, hope was her only choice; love had to be her freedom. Many men came, and more left; her inward rage only mounted. The world could not be this way; the world simply could not be this way. She turned inward, seeking her salvation from within.
She dabbled in religions as many sample pizza toppings, mixing and matching but the grease just never seemed to sit well, and as she regurgitated the words to her… friends... the results were the same: Food poisoning.
Then came the great night, the night for which she would finally have her fame, the night when all would take note, newspapers proclaim her story and carry her picture, at least for a day. Her first of many lovers came back into town, he had made his fortune and come to take her from this place. Classic Fairytale ending, eight years, five minutes too late. For as he found her; body warm, lips parted, and arms stretched wide for his embrace; that which caused her to move about in this world had left her. Hope, had left her, or she had finally parted ways with it. She was dead, no cause of death could be found, no visible trauma, no fresh wound marks to be seen, no health conditions worthy of her demise. With all the science, all the tests all the reason and intellect brought to the task, no one could see what was clear, a broken heart leaves no visible marks to be seen and yet covers all we see.
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