Chapter 2
Weeping Willow.
She has always hated her name... now, she just wanted to kill it. Still, she knew she was lucky for not being born a boy. Her parents used to be hippies and once told her that they would have named Willow their first kid, whether it was a girl or a boy. Being called Pussy Willow wouldn't have been a great childhood memory; but it would have been more bearable than what she felt right now.
She picked up her heart, which lied in pieces of tissues on the floor, and threw it (them) into her garbage can. Could her eyes ever run out of tears? She thought she would have to be dead to stop crying. Walking by her mirror, she saw her reflection from the corner of her eyes. Slim, long blonde hair, hazel eyes, lost look, dead white skin, bleeding heart. She didn't need to stare at the mirror to know what she had turned herself into.
Lately, she hadn't dared to contemplate her mirror-self, for she knew what else she would see behind her. Shadows that shouldn't be there and couldn't be there, and she didn't want to see because it scared the heaven out of her. She had no more heart to sacrifice to the demons that haunted her. She couldn't claim insanity; no walls or doors could protect her. This is the kind of pain that travels with her, the kind that eats her insides, the kind that plays with her brain, the kind that consumes her food, the kind that only leaves traces of life.
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