1941, Rutland, Vermont: veiled by the disease ridden, the genetically mutated, human monstrosities, freaks. They called her Forks, she was the lobster girl and she was the main attraction. Nicknamed after her hometown in Maine where she grew up an only child, Forks suffered from severe social anxiety. Medicated since age five, she was never normal and was reminded constantly by the people who promised they loved her. On her seventeenth birthday she could no longer handle the ridicule and decided she needed to take her own life or get out. Behind the violet curtains she sits. Her best friend, Penguin, a little person with a heart of gold was brushing her hair. "Hairs' grown at least three inches since April." Forks didn't respond, her face parallel to the mirror beside her. She was mentally preparing to be degraded, to be abused; pure humiliation. 5"8 with a heavenly figure, she had caramel locks that went for miles. Her appearance was almost astonishing and made all question how a thing like her could be living with freaks. "And now if we could ask everyone to settle down! Our most shocking performance yet..." Forks rose from an aged stool and went stage left. Her toes grabbed the ladder, gripping as if persuading her not to do it again. "Here she is! The amazing, the horrible, the wretched Lobster Girl!" The curtains flew open and she lifted her right arm. On the end replacing a hand was a burnt colored claw the size of her head. She opened her deformity and clutched the thick rope attached from one end of the stage to the bottom of the other. She flew down as everyone shrieked and laughed. A year and a half of performances had yet to callus her heart. After 10 minutes of what seemed an absence of air, the curtains drop and oxygen floods her. She goes to her dressing room and stares herself in the eyes. One iris is green, the other chocolate. She decides not to kill herself. "I refuse to leave through sin."