• Her face was a mixture of blues, blacks,
    violets, yellows, and greens on cream. The
    same holds true for her arms. She wears
    a shirt that doesn't cover the bruises; she is
    not ashamed of them. Nor is she proud. The
    ripped and faded jeans that she wears are held
    up by a belt that does little good and her eyes....
    her eyes look right through your soul.

    When you hear her speak, never will you guess
    that just hours, or maybe even minutes, before
    that same voice was crying out for help. It is
    quiet, timid, as though she is afraid to be heard.
    A boy moves past her, nearly shoving her into a
    locker, no sound escapes her lips. Instead, she
    wears a small smile as she responds to the one
    asking if she is all right with a simple "fine."

    You walk by her in the hallway, frowning at the
    stench of copper that hits your nose. She always
    smells of copper, but no one will ever do anything
    about it; no one cares. Some days the smell is
    stronger than others. Some days it is mixed with
    the smell of salt; she did have tearstains on her
    cheeks this morning... didn't she? You do not

    You sit next to her in Math. She never sits up
    straight and she tends to hide her face. One day
    you found out why she does that. She claimed
    that she walked into a door, there was a cut that
    ran all the way across the left side of her face.
    Today the bruises seem fresh and you wonder how
    she can move around with the ache that bruises
    leave behind. You touch her arm, pretend to have
    a question about the work, and barely notice the
    wince that flashes across her face.

    She came back to school today with a split lip. No
    one asks her what happened. A boy goes up and
    talks to her, you know he is just doing it to be cruel,
    you know she likes him and that his presence will
    hurt her somehow. She bites her bottom lip and you
    see that you are right. He laughed and left as her lip
    bled. The blood stains her mouth and those salty
    tears run down her face again. She disappears and you
    do not follow. She will survive today, just like she
    does every other day.