The sight of the young girl was a regular sight at the park. This peculiar girl had been sitting on that same bench for weeks without fail. Slowly becoming more sickly by the day, her skin became deadly pain and her once full rosy cheeks where now thin and colourless she was gradually becoming a living Skelton. Though to her she wasn't really living. Some believed she was homeless, others thought she was a runaway or an orphan but no one would ever know the truth because no one dared to ask. They pretended they didn't see her, walked faster when passing with young children pretending she didn't exist. Hoping, praying that the next time they passed that old ruggedly bench that she wound be gone but she alway was.
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At Grims Hand
Short StoryWhen everyone pretends not to see, when the pain is unbearable, how will this girl be freed from her from her self when the girl she used to be died? Really bad at descriptions and spelling sorry.
