By Profe Steve
She was adorable. She had the perfect life.
At least that’s what everyone thought.
She was pretty. No, much more than pretty.
She was as beautiful as a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds at dusk, filled with hues of red and purple.
Everyone admired her. She was smart.
She didn’t make the top grades in class, but she was never far behind. They didn’t know that her rank was a carefully calculated balance between being noticed at school and at home. She wanted neither.
They envied her figure and her athletic skill.
Boys followed her with their eyes and wished they had the courage to ask her out.
She had the perfect life. Everyone wanted to be her.
Her smile lit up any room she entered and her laughter was contagious. Everyone wanted to be her.
They didn’t see. They didn’t know.
They didn’t know of the mother who was sleepwalking through life, her head befogged by medication, oblivious to anything else going on.
They didn’t know about the drunken step father, didn’t witness the rage nor the damage he left behind.
They didn’t know that her door would creak ominously deep in the night. Didn’t know of the terror of his fetid breath on her face, his rough, hot hands on her body.
They didn’t know of the lonely hours she spent hiding, lost in depression, wishing she had the courage to end it all.
They only saw what she allowed them to see.
Everyone wanted to be her.
She had the perfect life.