The Girl In Black And White
She never spoke to anyone. No one knew her name. But God, what they would give to know the girl in black and white...
The girl in black and white.
She never spoke to anyone.
No one knew her name.
She was known only as, "the girl in black and white."
She never looked at anyone.
She never went to school.
She was known only as, "the girl in black and white."
Anyone would kill to know the name of a girl so beautiful. Anyone would count themselves lucky to just once hear her voice.
But she never acknowledged anyone. The girl in black and white was never to be heard.
She never had boyfriends. Her parents wouldn't let her. Her mother was never seen, and her father was only heard on occasions, shouting their house down. She never wore colors. The girl in black and white was never seen in anything other than black and white.
From a young age, the girl in black and white was abused. The neighbours knew what was going on in that big house of theirs. They knew why she had such scars and bruises upon those lovely cheeks of hers. But no one did a thing. No one said anything. To them, the girl in black and white was nothing but a beautiful ghost.
No one ever approached her. They were afraid. What nature might she hold in those eyes of hers; what pain? What might she think of them, of their silly little easy lives? And who could save her, this poor, abused girl who never smiled? No one would save the girl in black and white.
The girl in black and white kept to herself, though she never seemed timid. She seemed to take comfort in the fact that no one would acknowledge her. She never acknowledged anyone. She went about her business, ran errands for her father, and disappeared beyond through the forest no one dared go, and sat at the bank of the creek there, settling in to the sounds of nature. Nothing held her like the creek. The gently, running water, that sounded so much like a cooing lullaby. The sounds of the birds in the trees were much like her mother's gently humming, and when the birds sung, the girl in black and white would shut her eyes, and she would be back as a child, having her hair brushed and listening to her mother hum to her gently, sighing ever so often and telling her she had hair as fine as silk. Her mother had been her best friend. That's where the girl in black and white had gotten her long, dark hair from, her midnight blue eyes. After her mother died, when she was six years old, and her father moved her to Ohio and they settled down in the big house. No one, of course, knew this. To them she was a ghost who suddenly appeared one day, and who wouldn't leave yet. She was home schooled, but even to her father she did not talk. Some wondered if she even had a voice. The girl in black and white knew she did; oh, how she felt her voice inside of her.
She just didn't use it.
The girl in black and white was a good girl. She did all of her chores at home, listened to every word her father gave her. Yet she still wasn't good enough for him. He still hit her, abused the poor girl which he called, "sweetie." What monster of a man did that? What man layed hands on the girl he held close to his heart? The girl in black and white was good at hiding her bruises. Though her beauty was so rich she seldom used makeup, the ones on her face were easily hidden by her thick, dark locks.
No one had seen the real girl in black and white. The real girl who loved the stormy weather. The girl who snuck out as soon as a storm was about to hit, and danced in the heavy rain, no matter how thick or cold the weather grew for her. This was the girl that smiled, the one who had laughed a few times but had no memory of doing so. The girl who always ended up on her back, lying in the middle of the road or open area, staring up at the darkened sky and thinking of her mother.
No one knew this girl.
No one except James Dell.
She never spoke to anyone.
No one knew her name.
She was known only as, "the girl in black and white."
She never looked at anyone.
She never went to school.
She was known only as, "the girl in black and white."
Anyone would kill to know the name of a girl so beautiful. Anyone would count themselves lucky to just once hear her voice.
But she never acknowledged anyone. The girl in black and white was never to be heard.
She never had boyfriends. Her parents wouldn't let her. Her mother was never seen, and her father was only heard on occasions, shouting their house down. She never wore colors. The girl in black and white was never seen in anything other than black and white.
From a young age, the girl in black and white was abused. The neighbours knew what was going on in that big house of theirs. They knew why she had such scars and bruises upon those lovely cheeks of hers. But no one did a thing. No one said anything. To them, the girl in black and white was nothing but a beautiful ghost.
No one ever approached her. They were afraid. What nature might she hold in those eyes of hers; what pain? What might she think of them, of their silly little easy lives? And who could save her, this poor, abused girl who never smiled? No one would save the girl in black and white.
The girl in black and white kept to herself, though she never seemed timid. She seemed to take comfort in the fact that no one would acknowledge her. She never acknowledged anyone. She went about her business, ran errands for her father, and disappeared beyond through the forest no one dared go, and sat at the bank of the creek there, settling in to the sounds of nature. Nothing held her like the creek. The gently, running water, that sounded so much like a cooing lullaby. The sounds of the birds in the trees were much like her mother's gently humming, and when the birds sung, the girl in black and white would shut her eyes, and she would be back as a child, having her hair brushed and listening to her mother hum to her gently, sighing ever so often and telling her she had hair as fine as silk. Her mother had been her best friend. That's where the girl in black and white had gotten her long, dark hair from, her midnight blue eyes. After her mother died, when she was six years old, and her father moved her to Ohio and they settled down in the big house. No one, of course, knew this. To them she was a ghost who suddenly appeared one day, and who wouldn't leave yet. She was home schooled, but even to her father she did not talk. Some wondered if she even had a voice. The girl in black and white knew she did; oh, how she felt her voice inside of her.
She just didn't use it.
The girl in black and white was a good girl. She did all of her chores at home, listened to every word her father gave her. Yet she still wasn't good enough for him. He still hit her, abused the poor girl which he called, "sweetie." What monster of a man did that? What man layed hands on the girl he held close to his heart? The girl in black and white was good at hiding her bruises. Though her beauty was so rich she seldom used makeup, the ones on her face were easily hidden by her thick, dark locks.
No one had seen the real girl in black and white. The real girl who loved the stormy weather. The girl who snuck out as soon as a storm was about to hit, and danced in the heavy rain, no matter how thick or cold the weather grew for her. This was the girl that smiled, the one who had laughed a few times but had no memory of doing so. The girl who always ended up on her back, lying in the middle of the road or open area, staring up at the darkened sky and thinking of her mother.
No one knew this girl.
No one except James Dell.
1 Comment
I love your story, but if someone was drawing pictures of me I would find it more than a little creepy. Anyways, it's awesome! Write more!