Her hair, as red as the sun, blew softly in the wind. She always stood out among a crowd, but she was never loved among that crowd. People always made fun of her for the hair on her head and the freckles on her cheeks. They called her the spawn of Satan. Told her she was ugly and no one would love someone without a soul.
Her face was always happy but her heart was not strong, confidence not built up or tough. She could take on any battle someone put towards her but her heart couldn't take anymore than what has already been done. Her eyes flood tears and her arms leaked blood.
Although her heart was pure, nobody believed in her. No one knew jut how wonderful she could be. How many people she could, and would help. Her dreams may be big, but it's not in the dream itself that makes it impossible to achieve. It's what and how she thought of herself and what she believes she could accomplish.
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I'm not perfect
Short StoryAlthough the people may look at her ad admire her she is broken, bruised and beaten down. She isn't as perfect as people may come to have believed. She's trying to pretend and make herself believe that she isn't broken or hurt. But the truth catches...
