The small skinny girl standing in the middle of a weathered dirt road, torrential rain pouring from the black sky. Long hair strewn across her face, mud on her hands, stains on her cloth dress. Dirt rubbed into her sullen cheeks, tears outlining her bright eyes.

Soul. Spirit.

The moon is full and reflects off of her glistening skin. Eerie silence engulfs the surroundings, except for the echo of thunder and dash of lightening in the distance. Thunder crashes to her pulse. She rubs her eyes and wipes her thick wet hair off of her face. She glances into the distance and witnesses nothing.

Nothing. There is nothing.

For she is nothing, full of nothing and has hope of nothing but escape.

It’s frightfully saddening, the lonesomeness, and emptiness she feels. She wants to grab life and mutilate it. She wants to burn and feel pain. She wants to live, but she doesn’t know how. She’s lost. Turned around. She doesn’t know how to walk. Someone should have taught her. But it’s too late now.

She must teach herself.