The girl sat alone in her room, feeling sick with a toxic thought, one poisoned with a taste of freedom. She was too young to know what she was feeling, but old enough to know that something had changed in her. She knew it was a big a choice, but it felt like the only option. She closed her eyes as she lay back on her bed, seeing before her all that she was about to give up.


The morning began very much in her usual routine. She spiraled downstairs to a breakfast catered specifically for her. She had plumbs, nectarines and cherries all individually arranged specifically on her plate to form the first letter of her name. There was an attempt at her other initials, made of oatmeal and slightly burnt biscuits, and sure enough, the first thing her mother did was apologize for the poor appearance of the other two thirds of the course. The girl took a nectarine slice, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse for her two "failed" initials. In fact, the girl did not particularly mind what she was given for food, but it pleased her mother, and that excitement was infectious.

Today was her first day of school. Outside of the kindergarden gates, the mother took the girl's photograph, standing outside the door in their matching outfits. The mother began to cry, as the girl smiled, starting to feel a little confused. She looked around her and saw other kids, there with one or both of their parents, who looked just as teary. She and the other children shared looks of bewilderment. Six hugs later they all sat in a painfully bright room