She walked the halls innocently, dimples no one could resist, eyes bluer than the sky, wavy brown hair. Her beauty reigned the grounds like a goddess. She moved with the grace of the angels, her smile could end a war.
Her teachers every moment of her time. She listened tentively. She drew admiration for her intelligence, her wits and participation. The boys loved her, the girls hated her. She was everything anyone could ever want to be. She dreaded the moment she had to leave her divine throne at this place.
Day and night, she coddled herself in her room, what was wrong with her. She hated the world, but, not as much as she hated herself. The only thing she hated more than the warmth of their touch, was how lonely it made her feel. Every night, she cried herself praying to a God that wasn’t there. And because God didn’t love her, no one ever could.
She woke up every morning, trying to find some sort of significance. She wore jeans that she knew accented her finest features and blouses that maintained mystery but kept the fantasy’s rolling. And, as their eyes passed across her body, she was confused. Never more alive than the euphoric rush of being noticed, of being sought after, of being desired. Never more dead, because of how cheap she felt, how much she knew her soul was drifitng away. By deed and by action, she felt nothing more than the cheapest of whores.