by Burton Wu
Below the small mangled huts and houses beside the hard dusty road. The huge houses seem to tower over her tiny frame. She is but a speck of dust of the looming yonder. Crouched up beside the broken road she stares at the huddled bunch of flowers. There was a sense of interest she longed for, a feeling so vital to her well-being that has not been allowed to be embraced. She is unsure as to why it is so. A soft wind excites the grass as does the strands of her hair. Roughly, the little girl stuffs the strands of hair back into her bun, continuously focusing on the weltered daisies with such an intellectually vigorous expression that one might laugh. Her mind seems to echo from her thoughts, but only to the extent until she looks at the horizon and all of its colorful magic. As it is the only vibrant areas of her life and it saddens her to see its majesties go off without her. She feels strong emotions as the sun sets, her eyes tracing the tracks of the afterglow, disappearing into the dark night sky. She begins to lose balance as her legs tremble, so she leans back on her bun to ease the soreness. The ground is hard and dirty, but she understands that; she does not think nor speak, but is simply tired of knowing what is never to come back.