The girl in black

blackThere once lived a young girl who barely gotten a taste of life and already thought about leaving it. Not because something really bad happened to her – no one died or broke her heart or abused her – she just started to realize that it would always be difficult. She would always be different and the world isn’t kind to the strange ones.

So she sat there on her favorite spot down by the river, staring at the water – trying to make sense of it. Would it even matter if she disappeared right now? Would anyone care? But the water held no answers. The worst part of it was that there was no real reason for all the sadness and all the pain. She just couldn’t bear the world anymore. Not the cruelty, the lies and most of all the love. Especially the kind of love that wasn’t mutual.

She sat there starring into the lake, sheltered by the bushes surrounding her and kept wondering. It had just been a short amount of time she’d spend on earth but she already felt like 100 years old. At first she thought the pain would be the worst. But that had been wrong. The pain was nothing compared to the void inside her chest now. First she had chosen it to let the emptiness comfort her. But by now, the void had grown so much, she wasn’t even sure anymore if she carried it or it her. Emptiness was so much worse than pain.

And then, out of the blue, another thought hit her: Being different didn’t mean that she had to be everyone’s personal bunching bag. It didn’t mean she had to back down. If all the world could do was throwing dirt at her, it was about time she’d start throwing back. Time to start crowing claws. And within seconds, the void was replaced by rage – and somewhere in that rage, the girl in black was born.

For a long time, she had been called the rainbow-girl, lately she had become the boring girl. So the next day the girl threw away all the colors in her life– the pink shirts, the blue jeans, simply everything. She dyed her hair pitch black, polished her nails black and bought a whole closet full of black clothes. The little grey mouse grew into a black lion fighting everything and everyone around her. She became the strange girl in black.

To this day I think she’s the only reason I’m still alive. She avenged the grey mouse and built walls to keep everything at bay: The world, all the feelings and most of all, the void. It’s no wonder I still seek shelter inside her skin whenever it just gets too much. And it’s also not surprising, that no one around me seems to be able to deal with her whenever I let her surface.

She’s the girl I once made up, to keep my sanity. But like all made-up things, she’s not intended for the real world.

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