She stared around sullenly, envious of the happy people around her. Their lives were so full, so young. She sat up from the damp, smelly corner she had been sitting in, and made her way through the streets. No one noticed the gaunt, dirty little girl with lost and jaded brown eyes. No, they never did. But she was used to it. She had not a single friend to share her thoughts with, no one to confess her past to. For many years, she had finally surrendered to the thought that she was alone. A long time ago, she had considered her mind a safe haven, a private place locked up with a key that was inaccesible to all but her. But many lonely and depressing years had passed since then, and her thoughts were hardly more than a constant droning voice that she had frown tired of.
People often took their life for granted, she thought mildly, watching two grown men chug a bottle of strong alcohol. She had never fully understood that, the thought of not being fully in control of your actions and mind was scary to her. Of course, no one was here to see her drunken blunders if she ever chose to make any. No one cared what she did. No one saw her cry to herself. No one heard her sobs of depair, sticking out in the heavily populated, yet strangely quiet city. She knew why, and detested her knowing. The day of enlightenment was the day of her fall.
The reason no one noticed?
She had died years ago, was still dead, and would be, forever, dead.