Sitting in the back of class, writing on her inner arm, morbid verses and dark song lyrics, she's the definition of lonliness. That girl that you avoid down the hall. The one with the black rings around her eyes and skin too pale with hair too black. That girl who wears the crazy clothes and cruses at teachers as she traces her fingertips along the pretty scars on her arms. That girl is the smartest kid in each class, the teachers worst fear but greatest gift. Every time she hears a snicker or watches a figner be pointed, a name is added to her list. Each day she counts down.

They love to torment her, they love to make her feel like shit. She's their private joke, they look at her and feel better about themselves. With their Coach purses and shiny new BMWs, they have no idea that she comes from a home filled with pain. Hooker mother, drug abusing father, both abusive in their own ways. She's told she's stupid, ugly, worthless, and a mistake by her mother, then her father beats her. They assume each bruise is the result of some sick demon worship ritual. She's not a freak, just that misunderstood girl that deserves a chance but is never given one.

When the months pass by and the beats get worse, a group of those cocky jocks with too much muscle and not enough brain find her in an alley. She's invaded, she's beaten, she's raped.

Rape.

Rape.

Rape.

The last straw. The end of her rope. The next day she comesto class, looking at each of the people who killed her every day. Called to the front of the room to read an essay, she recites her work of art.

"Dear fellow students,

The years have passed, do any of you remember my name? Do any of you know how many times all I've wanted was a friendly smile. Every time you laugh at me I hate myself even more. My home is filled with hate, and so is my schoo life. Do you know what it's like to wake up every day not knowing who will beat you? Whether it be mother, father, or fellow student. I'm a freak, a loser, a waste of space. Fine. This freak, loser, waste of space, will stop taking up the air you al yern for. She'll stop being in your way. She'll stop being a silent burden to your perfect lives."

With the final words she drops her paper to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mascara streaks adorn her perfect ivory skin. From her pocket a blade is pulled, acros her throat the blade moves, and with that her blood is spilled.

From her classmates the silence is strong, guilt, fear, disgust, horror, all emotions that no one should feel. But is anyone truly sorry? Do any of them actuall regret how they treated her?

Of course not.