This may be a little...strange...for some of my reviewers' taste, but these words sprang from the tips of my fingers as I tried to write an additional chapter to a story. it is. R&R.

There was a little girl, once upon a time.

But then that girl grew up.

People call her names, ridicule her for what she is worth. And yet - they who do so do not know her, the innocent child locked within a barricade of walls no one has been able to scale. She has a best friend, two actually, even three, but they do not know her as well as they think. They only see an adolescent who is too precocious and promiscuous for her own good, and they do not listen to her dreams, only to the trash that spills from her mouth.

It is difficult for her to explain her feelings, because she has been laughed at and insulted by those she thought were her friends too many times. She is called slut, whore - but is sex such a terrible disgusting thing for her to want? She only yearns for it because of the abandonment her own father cast upon her. Perhaps, this is her way of grasping at the love a man never gave her, and she looks to sex as a way of fulfilling the hole in her heart. Or, maybe, this is a way of getting back at him, to slap him across the face and make him see the hormone-fueled daughter he has not truly spoken to or looked at since she was seven.

One boy uses her only if he wants something, petty things, and the other uses her as a human verbal punching bag when he is riled. One she loves more than anything, for he is like a brother to her, but he cares naught about a corpulent crier like her. One was among her best friends in third grade, but he has been corrupted by the streets, by drugs, by their euphoric uplifting, and she no longer knows the tough, hard boy he has become, someone who abuses her self-esteem more than others.

And soon she will be an adult, and all that glitters will disappear forever, as all golden things do eventually, fluttering their luminescent wings left, then right, and their own virgin queen will disappear in a whirl of sex, drugs, and crime, no longer caring about the boys she loved so once upon a time, or about her ne'er-do-well father, or about her caring mother, but only about herself, and the things she wants. She knows when she leaves this tight cocoon of childhood she herself will do drugs, and will fall head over heels for someone of a different race, only to be broken into shards of heart-glass, and will slyly steal everything she could get her hands on.

And in one wild hopeful dream, she commits the ultimate crime of murder, and she will make everyone pay for the hate they caused her, and the pain, and the tears, and she will pay them back, and she will make them suffer, and she will laugh and not cry, and she will watch as they bleed their poison out, and she will walk away, and she will not care, and she will be the only one left among the good people, and she will turn bad, and she will rule victoriously over the streets, and she will once again be queen. But she will not be everyone's gentle soft-spoken virgin queen, no - she will rule the streets with an iron fist, and she will connive to be the best and the only best. She will be unstoppable and she will turn her backs on those she loved and who once loved her, and her fairy wings will be no longer glittery, but black, furled and blistered, like those of a fire dragon who kills for sport.

Try to understand these words and maybe you will understand her. Know that though she has grown up into a woman, with a woman's body, urges, and mind, there is still a girl locked in there somewhere, who will never come back. But she is there. And understand that she is not who you used to know and love and touch and laugh with. She knows, as she writes these words down, that you will never understand exactly what she has written, because these words are a complete jumble of nonsense and crisscrossing meanings, but she wanted to try. The girl wanted to give one last try to reach out and communicate with God and Heaven and the people around her before the woman killed her and bottled her feelings up inside so that no one would ever know. You will never feel a pain, or a desperate attempt to reach out and love and touch, as acute as the one you will feel now, and remember this is the girl's feelings, and you will never feel the woman's because the woman will not let you feel her love and childish feelings, only her hate and rage, because other feelings are alien and forbidden to her.

There was a little girl, once upon a time.

But then that girl died.

The woman killed her.

As all women kill the little girls they used to be.

And she gives in to temptation, and the little girl is lost forever.