She hopped down the stairs, one stair at a time. Thud, thud, thud. Her mother stood at the first step, waiting patiently. “Mommy do I look pretty?” the little girl asked. The girl’s hair, matted and knotted, was tied into a white bow. Her hair, dry and yellow, was more like straw then corn silk. Her pale moon face was scarred with millions of feckless. Her brown eyes were mud, dull and thick, enclosed by invisible eyelashes. A crooked nose sat on the center of her face rather than a button one. Her smile was missing baby teeth, the remaining ones left the color of mustard. The dress she wore was once white but age and stains dyed it a dingy grey. Her body followed her face, bloated, the dress shrunken against her frame. The fabric pressed tightly around her stomach and the puffed short sleeves prohibited circulation. Panty hose, put on prematurely, ran up and down her legs. The shoes, pure white, were of out place and tacky next to the dress. They had matched at one time. But the dress was worn more and the shoes had been outgrown time and time again. The mother looked up at her daughter smiling, “You look beautiful honey!”