My name is Shakana. Weird name right, but it's ok.
Life is hard.
I wake up everyday, thinking of life. How am I still alive. I touched my face to feel the deep black scar that was drawn across my face. It slightly reached the top of my eyebrows, but who would care. Who would take their time to stare at me and tell me,"What is wrong?"... No one. That is why I have myself. I was told that crying is for weak people. If you cry, it would show your weakness. That's ok. I have to hide who I truly am. If you show your true side... you'd die. I am not afraid of death. We were born to die so why hide from death when tomorrow you'd be dead or alive. This is who I was trained to be. No weakness, no mercy... no love.
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Black heart
Художественная прозаSometimes the heart wants what it wants but can never get. Shakana wanted happiness... not cruelty or death lingering in every corner. She lives by three things •no weakness •no mercy •no love Will she forever have a black heart or will she be se...
