I saw her at the age of nine. Third grade.
Note that I saw her. I didn't speak to her.
Her name was ------ and she was extremely quiet.
But I remember the day I saw her clearly. It was fall. The leaves on the trees were many shades of browns and reds. Sometimes orange and yellow too.
She was playing with the dried, dead leaves, crouched to the ground. The dry autumn air turned the crisp and cold. The brittle leaves fell apart in her small hands at the touch. Sometimes, leaving only the skeleton.
I, sitting on the other side of the playground, watched the other kids play. I wasnt in trouble or anything. I just enjoyed, non-physical activity. But her. She caught my eyes because she was so alone.
------ continued to mess around in the nature before her. She looked so innocent and careless. Peaceful. The look on her face was distant.
Suddenly her head lifted up, steering in my direction. I looked away, focusing my vision somewhere else. I watched the other kids play and thought about
t h e g i r l i n t h e l e a v e s .
· · ·
I h o p e y o u e n j o y e d t h i s
c h a p t e r.
· · ·
W h a t d o y o u t h i n k
------'s
n a m e i s?
YOU ARE READING
s o t h i s i s l o v e #wattpride
Short StoryWhat does it mean to be h u m a n ? · · · To live? Breath? To be able to feel, perhaps? Physically, yes. Everyone with a beating heart can do so. · · · Or possibly to be human is to l o v e . · · · To love a person and cherish every second with them...
