Little Martha never really had any friends. She didn't understand why people didn't like her. She tried her best to share her toys. Wear her nicest dresses. And always tell the truth. But the other children would always make fun of her. They would pull her hair. Call her name's. And the ones that did like her were forced to follow the popular children for fear of getting bullied along side Martha. So she learned to be distant, to love the silence, to hear out the darkness, and to find love and understanding In even the most hatful of situations. She learned to do all of this at age 7. Her parents loved very much, but it didn't fill the gap that only a friend could feel. She began to fear silence, see darkness as pain, and find hateful situations, well, hateful. She grew away from her parents. She feared that they would one day stop loving her, just like the other people in her life had. She was terrified of getting attached to people, and prevented this by pushing away, building walls, and never, ever let out the wails and Crys that she barried deep down in her soul. She was in a way only a shadow, a mere wisp of a person that was once there. She was in a way dead. And she was in a way alive.
