• I stood, lonely in front of the school, my brown eyes fixed on the road, my back pack slung lazily over my right shoulder, bordem taking over as I sighed and rolled my eyes before I slunk over to a bench, also inhabited by another young girl. I some what recognized her, but not really. she turned her face to me and I silently gasped. Her face wasn't round, not sharp either, every dip and angel was soft, but held no roundness like my own face, her eyes were dark blue, the color of an ocean during a storm, with dark gray flecks. And that's what her eyes reminded me of, dark blue, stormy waves and dark gray clouds hovering over, pouring down rain. Her eyes were framed by long, lovely black lashes that dusted the very tops of her cheeks when she blink, her hair was the same, pure midnight black color and fell straight down her back in spiky layers, her bangs that covered her eyes a bit spiky as well. But it looked very good on her. Her lips were light coral pink and her skin the color of dream, not pale, a beautiful creamy white like porcelain. she eyes me up and down, taking in my wild curly brown hair and plain brown eyes, the only pretty things was that my lips were full and lashes long.

    "Hello." She whispered softly, lifting her hand to give a slight wave. I smiled and waved back, but then I noticed something. Her eyes, they were the saddest eyes I had ever seen, heart broken, lost and lonely. I bit my lip to restrain a gasp as she gave a smile, her eyes still keeping their look, but lighting up. My mother came just as it began to rain and I smiled before asking," Would you like a ride? My name's Tiffany by the way," she looked uncertain for a few seconds, hesitant before smiling and saying," I'm Janelle. I guess I would like a ride." We piled into the car and drove off. Soon, we were laughing and smiling and joking with my mom, though her eyes stayed on the road and her hands gripped the steering wheel. I then realized I hadn't asked Janelle's address as we drove off to our country home. She smiled and said," It's on Willow Lane and Plum Lane." That was just a street down from ours. As we arrived at her house, I noticed bruises laced her hands and arms, though she always pulled her sleeves down quickly. She got off and I feared for my new found friend. She seemed too fragile to take a hit, and I imagined my new friend curled up in fetal positon, heavy fists of an unknown mother falling upon her pale, fragile body.. The next day, I did not see her at school and was worried. When I got home, my mother was crying and directed me to the t.v, which was displaying the news. The headline was enough to make me cry,' Young girl found death at her home on Willow and Plum.' The story continued to say that her mother had stabbed her and beat her multiple times, killing her. But they went on to say the abuse had been going on since she was just a young baby. Then, they said the name,"Young Janelle Marionette did not get to live her life because her mother." A picture flashed. It was Janelle, smiling for school pictures. Tears flooded down my cheeks and I cried, sobbing wildly, my mother patting by back. No wonder her eyes had seemed to lost and sad and lonely. And I wept everyday since then, for a girl I had only known for one day. As I wept, everyday after that, always one thought hits me. It started with one hit.
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