Little Girl of Pink

I was so sick of studying for my math test, and before I knew it, I’d opened another Word document to type something random. Here’s the product of that; what are your thoughts on it?

The little girl just sat there sobbing in her pink overalls.

It was broken.

It was no longer, the little music box in her hands. The melody refused to come out of hiding and sing. The little ballerina on top refused to twirl and dance in front of the sharp shards of remaining mirror. The knob still turned, but nothing inside worked anymore.

She balled her fists up and braced her knees as she rocked back and forth. Her blond frizzy bangs swung along, executing their useless wrath against her soaking face.

Her soaking face…

If you had sat by her side on that leaf-covered autumn ground, you might’ve seen her red-streaked face, frozen in time, within the razor mirrors. And there, in the shards of mirror, you might have also seen the effects of her accidental poppy mascara—custom-made just for her. Scarlet swiped angrily, as it often did, back and forth on her face and lips. Her little fists and wrists were littered with gooey annoyance, pain, and devious sparkles. How peculiar it is, the sparkle of glinting mirror shards…

If you had sat by her side on that colorful concrete, you would’ve seen right away that it was broken.

Not the music box, not her skin, but her wonder.


~ Ruth


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