September 16, 2011
By Anonymous

A Few Small Whispers...
How many blows can a small girl take? Just a small girl, so fragile, so weak. She is calling out for help, with her eyes. Those hollow eyes. I looked into them once, the emptiness I saw made my stomach churn with fear. Though when I approached her, the emptiness was replaced by wild fear. Her barely open eyes became wide and unblinking, she seemed unable to move. To even speak. As I spoke to her – showing I meant nothing but kindness, she curled away, inward, into a small ball. She was grey and crushed, only able to breath in small, shaking breathes. I tried to care for the girl, I offered her food and water - but she would not take it. She cried for days and days, but I still stayed with her. On the last day when it finally ended, she stood up, holding herself tightly. She weakly wiped her face and looked my way. I am not sure if she saw me or not, her eyes seemed too broken to see. I held out my hand to the girl, she didn't seem to notice - it was as if she wasn't attached to the earth, as if all she saw was blurs. My hand dropped to my side and I simply looked across her thin, battered body, seeing the cold scars across her skin. Until finally her dry lips parted, and barely audible - she whispered, "Help me."

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book