The Girl feels her own halo in her hand.

Tugs on it slightly,

And a little speck of lights lands in her eye.

She blinks it out, and it trickles off her eyelash.

She pulls her halo over, farther away from her mind…

And lets it go.

It slings back into its place, and like always:

Perfectly center.

Perfectly aligned.

Perfectly—perfect.

Her eyebrows furrow.

“No one likes such an unworldly girl.”

She thinks.

“No one would like such an unworldly girl.”

She places her hand along the halo’s rim,

And her fingers trail along its

slippery yellow shine.

Abruptly, she grips it,

and the tendons in her arm bulge,

she tugs:

Upwards, pulling it closer to where it came.

The halo’s invisible membrane slightly slits with a hiss,

and her eyes glow with perverted satisfaction.

Little yellow fibers are ripping, and the blood from it’s

transparent wounds fall into her eyes, and down her

cheek as her innocence is torn away from her.

Then, it’s done.

it’s shine is

tarnished from the sweat.

and it has stained red on her bedroom carpet.

“Look at what I brought you.” She smiles, cunningly.

And presents it to The Boy, her red cheeks soiled with the tears

she’s cried and dried blood from the halo’s removal.

Her eyes are bloodshot and foggy,

glazed over with a manic pride.

“I loved your purity.” He says, and turns.

A cold wind blows past and knocks The Girl down.

Oh, little girl, what have you done?