There was once a girl who had her peers’ approval: skin like silk and her eyes could be compared to a freshly polished wooden floor, her laugh could light up a whole town - the hearts of the broken. This girl’s heart was said to be golden – the kind of gold used to build the streets of Heaven, the kind the kings yearned for; delicate and sweet too, that heart of gold. The way this angel walked wasn’t **** nor was it seducing; the way this Mona Lisa walked: dumbfounding. The way this Mona Lisa walked: beautiful. The way this Mona Lisa walked: full of grace. Grace. She spoke of this word: grace. Grace to this girl was more than just a word, it was a lifestyle. She spoke of the grace of God and God’s grace descending upon His children. This wonderful girl – who spoke of God’s grace – had her peers’ approval, yet not her family’s. This dumbfounding girl, who did not have her family’s approval, started giving up on the grace of God. This girl whose laugh could bring life to the dead souls couldn’t find life in her own, couldn’t light up her own heart not made of gold, but of cheap metal, and it was rusting faster than God’s grace could find her. This graceless girl got tired of waiting for God’s grace to arrive. This graceless girl was yearning for the same gold the kings did. This graceless girl wanted to turn her heart to gold. This graceless girl wanted to touch the golden streets of Heaven. This graceless girl wanted to be one of “His children”. This graceless girl wanted to find the grace of God on her own terms.
Twenty four hours later.
There was once a girl who had her peers’ handkerchiefs and flowers. Her skin of silk was almost colder than her family’s hearts, not made of gold nor metal, but of ice. They would not go to her wedding (if she had one, they said).
She didn’t.
Instead, this girl who had her peers’ flowers in respect laid there exactly like a carcass: dead.