(no subject)
She didn't know what to do about it anymore. All of the jealous looks, and jeering hooks. Her classmates were an orchestra of discord and disdain. Constant crescendo, lack of refrain. They hated her disease that had no name. She had thought of some, for amusement, for fun. It made her stronger being the only one. For every strand of hair on everyone elses head. Hers were made of flower petals instead. Her name was bed, and the life she led, was one of beauty in sorrow in solo in dread. Until the day she was left for dead. By the only garderner who tended Flower Bed.