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EIGHTY TWO

I gaze at the girl in the mirror. The looking glass wall-mounted, encircled by a frame of threadlike strands of silver, interlaced together in a mock-cable arrangement.

The luminosity of the light shone through the whole bathroom as I studied myself. After a long shower, I called for cleansing. Three days I have not bathed, and it's revolting.

I turned over, wiped the fog off the mirror, and stood there looking at myself, taking in every detail, shape, size, and color. The mirror shows me what the whole world can understand.

A girl with scars, long black hair, and silver eyes; covered in scars and the faded purple bruise around my abdomen where Heather kicked me at the same place. It doesn't hurt nearly as much now.

Everything I've been through since that accident was full of fright, frustration, and loneliness. Then through my teenage years, however lonely, isolated, and neglected by others who saw me as a threat. Meeting Lily changed my thoughts about people; we became loyal friend
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