• She collapsed to her knees, hand clamped tightly over her mouth. The other hand that held the small sheet of paper trembled lightly. Her fragile fingers dented the page ever so slightly with every flick of her small wrist. The tiny, curvy, deep purple letters that were scrawled across the page were near impossible to read through her silvery tears. They spilled relentlessly over her rosy cheeks, ran over her chin, and finally stained her crimson dress where they fell at her lap. The flames that flickered in the fireplace before her reflected in her clear blue eyes.

    "Arya!" The booming voice echoed behind her, making her wince. Despite her efforts, a quiet sob escaped her quivering lips.

    "Pick yourself up, you lousy..." The man didn't bother to finish. He turned on his heel and barged out of the room furiously.

    The small girl's hand quivered with anguish, releasing the paper against her will. It dropped and floated, then fell into the flames. It caught quickly. The fire licked at the edges, blackening every part that it touched.

    "No." Arya whimpered, but covered her mouth quickly before the man could hear her. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to watch the burning of the page she had held so dearly to her heart.

    The paper curled, then ceased to exist, crumbling into a black pile of ashes at the foot of the boiling fire.

    "No." She whispered again and opened her eyes the tiniest amount. The tears began again, though they seemed they should've run dry by now.

    "Arya!!" The man screamed from farther down the hall, his fury obviously laid in his drunken voice. Arya swayed to a stand, tears blinding her with vicious rage. Her long, dark hair was twisted and tangled around her shoulders, bangs plastered to her forehead by the liquid that ravaged her face. She stared at the fire one last second, silently mourning the loss of the only wonderful memory she had left. After another moment, she stumbled back to the door and shut it gently, leaving behind everything she had once held precious and true so that she may move on with her life. Move on, and become yet another lost to the world as we know it.

    Dismayed, tormented, tortured, brutilized, abused, sorrowed. Beaten and bruised on the outside, dead and black on the inside. Filled with the ashes of our past, clothed in the land of make believe. Twisted by the pain and suffering of the world around us, placed on the throne of the numbness we force upon ourselves to make everything disappear, to make everything seem full of life and joy. Crowned with pride, treated with a rusty, hollow nothingness. Why should this be the life we live for?