There's a little girl I see when I look in the mirror. Her dress torn and wrinkled, stained with tears and dirt from digging, clawing up from where she burried herself to hide from the monsters she's been running from, for the monsters were never under her bed or in her closet. They were under her skin, in her mind. Familiar shadowy figures pulling at her innocence, dimming the light in her eyes, stealing the breath from her lungs and words off her tongue. She ran from them. She was never afraid, she would never run, she was strong. Yet she ran as fast as she could, lungs burning, out of breath, she didn't stop. The rain pouring, intrigued by the sky, she looked up, lost in its pastel hue. The monsters got closer and she kept running. All she could do was run, the ground slippery under her aching feet. She stopped at an old oak tree. She remembered it greatly. The very tree she would climb, giggling and smiling, when she still had that light behind her. But, that light was gone now, the smile vanished when the monsters came. Beside that tree was the grave where her happiness lay. Where she lay herself to hide. She would be safe. The monsters would no longer be able to hurt her.
~Mida
