Gutter Child

elenamisachan

She was born a gutter child–worthless and dirty, with stains on her that she could never wash off. She would walk with her head lower than others, trying to be unnoticed and yet desperately wishing someone would notice and help her to feel something other than grotesque and disappointing. She longed to feel the way other girls did: naive and still hopeful. She wanted their beauty, their simple lives, their ability to still dream fearlessly. But one day as she was watching one, a seemingly perfect one, she thought how fragile that girl would feel if her perfect world came down around her.

She had at least felt the coldest, most brisk winds of life and learned to walk through it’s icy currents; she had had her heart hacked into 2, 3, 10 pieces until there was so little of it left that she wondered how it was still beating. She knew how to live in hell. And as she stood there looking at the girl, who she felt had yet to see life in it’s worst form, she realized she had an advantage over her: she could survive anything. This new knowledge about herself didn’t make her feel beautiful, but it did make her feel strong. She held onto that. She found hope in that.

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