The girl that never speaks (part 2 of short story)

Bottles of red, white and sparkely surrounded the pink face of a girl that did not speak. Sipping slowly. Eyelashes fluttered to unanwsered questions, tasting them, devouring each word as if it was utter nonsense. Eyeliner and cigarettes. Tubes of red lipstick that stain silk sheets. She sees it threw a mirror, backwards and reflective. Motions upon motions that bored her to a mess of dunkness and promiscuantity. Laughter that sounded of her mothers. All alone one night she lights a match that causes a big fire. She runs for her life, frightful of consaquance. Unable to settle down to any home, or any bed she is drawn to salty bitter kisses of a stranger. She spits. She runs. Going knowhere, yet leaving behind fractions of evidance that she has lived. Heartbroken, minds twisted and screaming, never aloud.

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