Everybody saw ugly in her. They did not dare to touch her or lightly pull her cheek when she was sad. When the other little girls dressed up and twirled around happily, she would sit in silence. Nobody noticed the pretty little child who was crying inside for some love. All she needed was an assurance. On Halloween, she decided to paint the rest of her face as pale as the hated patch on her right cheek. “What are you supposed to be?” Everybody asked in wonder. “An invisible ghost,” she replied.
It seemed too harsh. She had spent long nights weaving the tale. When her friends had been out at the movies, she’d been stuck to her laptop. When her mother had asked for company, she’d refused. Plus, her dog’s requests for belly rubs had been ignored. “So will I ever be an author,” she asked the dark clouds. It rained. “The clouds feel so bad that they’re crying,” said her mother. The little girl remembered to smile.