persona
Suicidal Sleep by Leslie Marie Banaban
The sky was black and the shadows beneath the walls were too as they kissed the humpy ground. A speck of old taut cloth dirt and mud on the little girl's body speaks poverty on the sullen street. She could feel the cold breeze from the outside. Her bare hands were placed on the window bars while her foot skulked. A puff of cold air now and then exited her little lungs. She needs warmth, yet no passersby are coming. The cold air, sharp as crystal and ice raining in the city, did not bother her - this was nothing new. Sighting. The little crow's feet rested near the skin of the little girl's eyes as she was searching for a man that is seven meters away from her. That is her Papa from a long-haul, wiggling his brows and plastering a dulcet smile exclusively for her. She could not feel more heaven-sent with the affection that she only sees. The little girl is longing for this moment, and yet this is it. That was it. Her Papa is guarded by two colossal Green Berets - one by his left and one by his right side. In her little age, she was uncertain from that moment. In her mind, Green Berets are a friend of her home, and they have never been evil to her. She then showed a smile on her eyes without hesitations. This is welcoming. Little girl, after this, wants to play beneath the dark sky with her Papa as her sweet playmate. Four meters away and she ultimately wants to feel the warmth of his embrace. The shaky unchoreographed left hand untouched the bars and silently waved several times into the air. This is her, the little girl's, way to show she is ready to play again. Papa saw the naked hand of his sweetheart, swaying in the breeze. The dulcet smile became noxious, all of a sudden his longing battling his existence. It is not fair. Struggling to hum the "Mary Had a Little Lamb" in the muted city.
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