The Forgotten Ones

Chapter One

Trindoll

Darkness surrounds me. A small ray of dim light enters my home through a tiny window that is the size of a rather large apple. The dim lightning allows me to see my sickly thin arms, how pale they are, how dead they look. My veins pop out, I can see them clearly as though I have no skin to cover the blue. My hands are small, they are the hands of a child the age of fourteen about. I honestly do not know how many years I have lived, nor how many have been spent in my dark, one roomed home.

The sleepy town outside of my dark home slowly wakes. Voices hum in the air around me, footsteps sound outside my walls. Light pours into my room with more force, it is not quite so dark anymore.

My stomach growls like a beast trapped inside of me, it begs for food, any food. I half wish for them to come with their taunting, to throw things at me through my tiny window. Maybe I will get lucky and they will throw in rotten food. At least, I can eat it rotten. If I die from eating it, that would be only for the better. It would be nice to die, I believe.

Death, oh, what a wonderful word. It is the symbol of release, the thing I crave most. I imagine it to be like floating on something soft and comforting. I will float for a while, and then my soul will be reborn. After its rebirth, it shall transform into something new. Maybe a lovely flower, an animal, or another person. Hopefully, as person happier than I.

To my lonely mind and heart, death is a sweet escape. A way to leave this world without actually leaving. The dead do not disappear, they move on, start new lives. They have another chance to become something better, or something worse, if that is what they desire.

I rise from my floor of dirt and rock and trash, and move over to the light. I try not to look at myself, but I can not help it. My eyes wander over myself, and I see what others do not see. I see myself, a small girl dressed in torn rags, with pale skin, looking the image of death. My legs shake with the effort of standing. I am weak, very weak. There is no strength to be found in my body, if anyone could look at me, they would be able to see that.

I tear my gaze away from myself. Part of me is glad that I am not able to see my own face. The other part of me is curious and wants to see all of me. I want to discover who I am, but what I find might not be worth it. I am not sure if I want to discover just how frail and weak I may appear to be. It is better for me to pretend that I am strong, even when I really am just falling apart, little piece by little piece.

It is so cold here, in my home. Why do I call this sad place home? Probably because I do not remember being any other place at all that could possibly be home. Home is here, here is where I've always been, where I've always been is hell, or at least a piece of it.

My body is a bag of bones, I think. Every bone in my body, I can feel. My bony hands feel the bones that are my wrists, shoulders, rib cage, spine. I am made up of bones and pale skin. I am afraid that if anybody were to ever see me, they would believe that they are looking at a skeleton.

Perhaps, that is all I really am. A skeleton of some young girl. In my mind, I invent a story for that girl.

That girl was young, beautiful, and talented. She could sing amazingly, everyone who ever heard her lovely voice immediately fell in love with her. The girl was kind, was not afraid to believe in the simple things that make up our world. People loved her, but some were jealous of the girl. So, one day, a group of three other girls of the same age as the lovely singer came along. They smiled sweetly false smiles at the girl, and praised her musical talent. The singer brush their compliments aside, feeling slightly embarrassed at the overly nice words. The three girls begged for the singer to sing them a song. The singer oblieged, and sang with her beautiful, sophrano voice. Little did the young singer know, the girls had brought with them a magic charm that can absorb voices. She sang and she sang, which the charm worked its magic and stole her voice. And with her voice, went her soul. Her voice had been the thing keeping her alive. Without it, she collasped, and practically dissolved into somebody else. That girl became a walking skeleton and hid herself away in a small cell-like place.

A ghost of smile spreads across my thin face. It is rare that I smile, even rarer than that is when I have a reason to smile.

My sleepy town is now waking up, my stomach growls angerily. The beast that is a constant reminder that I am human and am still living begs for food. Food that is never easily obtained, food that taste horrible, but is satisfying enough. I do not believe that I have ever in my lifetime eaten a decent meal, or had any food that was not stale or rotten.

Laughter errupts, just outside of my walls of protection. My heart hurts, I want something to laugh about, too. I try to force myself to laugh, a hoarse noise that definetly is not a laugh chokes it way out from my throat. I burst into a short fit of coughing, doubling over, almost falling to the floor.

Tears spill from my eyes, leak down my cheeks, under my chin. Life is just horrible, life is cruel to me. I am so weak, I need help. But, alas, I am trapped inside my own walls of comfort and home.