AN: Did this as a practice GCSE paper when I was 15 years old, and though I did received a very pleasing grade for it, my teacher did make a point that she "Didn't quite get it". So I thought about uploading it to the wide world of fictionpress to find people who do :D

Please read and review telling me what you thought.

Rating given to references to self harm etc.


Who is she? Looking at me with such sadness and longing in her eyes; and yet she cannot quite meet mine. She looks familiar…like a long – lost friend, or relative that I haven't seen this clearly for such a long time.

Running a hand through her damaged hair, I think – what was it last time? Blond? Brunette? It's been changed so often I can't recall. Look good – Feel good! Was that the saying? This girl has tried so hard to believe in that shallow phrase, but each time it was to no avail. She wanted so badly to be someone else – believing, hoping, even praying that a simple change in appearance would do it. Long, short, brown, blonde, pink – it never seemed to go deeper than the scalp it touched.

She must have noticed that too, or perhaps felt another need to go deeper than the skin with ink. Arms once so innocent and pale, now adorned with bright colours and lines. A canvas of memories…or lack of. But also an attempt to hide one's true self, to cover up what was once there. The sweet, plain girl.

Oh how she hated that girl! More than she has hated anyone in her life. And she would always let her know it. Abuse can be both mental and physical – and she chose both paths. At least she can't remember when or where she got some of those tattoos, but some marks go even deeper than drilled ink.

I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes. Though it is a while before I open them again, I know that when I do – she will still be there. Something I have let myself forget for so long. No wonder I didn't even notice her change. The girl that was lost for so long. She never really left me – but I left her.

I can see her now, clearer than I have done in so many years. Which is funny – as the glass on the mirror has never been so fogged up as it is now.