Fallen Angel

They beat her with chairs and desks, with their fists when they had no weapons. As she walked through the hallways, scared and alone, they threw pencils and text books in her direction. On the long walks home they'd stalk her, mocking her and verbally harassing her. Still no tears came, her face stone like and defiant towards the pain.1

At home she would break down, overcome by shame and embarrassment. Folding her arms around herself, she'd walk to her room where she stayed until the next morning, until it would all start again. 2

At breakfast she endured her father's sharp comments. His coarse manners and putrid breath. She was oblivious to his state, a half empty beer bottle beside him.3

After a week, she could bare no more. At lunch she ran to the bathroom and hid in a stall, when the others had left she locked herself in. She tied her shoelaces to the top of the door and fastened them around her neck, where the janitor later found her.4

There was no funeral, nor no memorial. The towns people went on with their business as if nothing had happened. She had no friends, her only relative was a drunken old man who lived in a run down house, he had no care. 5

And so everything ended. A lost soul had found no true meaning in life, had chosen to end it as soon as it had started. The popular kids would never torture her again, would never feast eyes upon her.6

Years went by and the abuse went on. Others came to the school and were beaten much like the girl, no one payed attention. The janitor, the one who had made the discovery of the hung girl, was the only one who heard them. 7

The stories he told were of peace and awe. How at times he would hear the young girls whispering in the bathroom, speaking to an unheard voice only visible to their ears. He spoke of the calm that the entity brought to the girls, how they would be happier when they were with her.8

He nicknamed her Fallen Angel, the one who guards the broken. Also known as the hung girl in the third floor bathroom.