walking into the sanctuary, the girl fell. the cracked, vine-covered stone floor of the ruins held no comfort in waiting for the small hands. as though life had just ended, she rolled over and layed looking at the sky not more than a gray mist. her hands did not feel pain. she did not feel misery or sadness or any of the common emotions that are brought by the realization of a fall. she was alone. there was no one around. no one for miles. no one had been in this naturally preserved building for close to an eternity. there were no windows; holes surrounded and nearly covered by vines made up for the lacking light. there were no doors; only an arched entryway. no seats; the stones from the long-ago collapsed roof held comfort for those that appreciate a seat of stone. she did not. the floor was where she found refuge. she was in her teens. age didn't matter. she was wearing a deep red shirt and dark, torn jeans. her shoes were nonexistant. her feet told a story of how it had rained the day before making the ground soft and full of mud. a tear slid down her cheek and hit the porous stone where it was absorbed after traveling one of thousands of cracks made by years of weathering. or were the cracks caused by the tears of those forgotten? the clouds overhead darkened with intensity. the stone around the girl's delicate head began drowning in a mix of tears and rain. she did not stir with the coming of the rain. the area around her eyes became streaked with black makeup that she used everyday to hide herself from those who meant the most to her. a near silent whimper expressed her lament for everything as the last reflection of light in her eyes faded away. a new vine climbed the wall of the sanctuary...