The Sad Story of Danya

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A black lacquered backless stool,

Stood in the middle of a strange, awkward stage

Danya walked along the darkened pavement

Boots clicked strong hard, without a care,

Anger in her heart

Confusion filling her mind

And on her face were signs of distress… once again.

She wore a mask for everyone to see. A bat in her right hand

The eerie grin on the disfigured mask,  

Reminded those that she had to pretend that she was perfect and always happy

Danya walked up the stairway towards the stage. And as she did so laughter came roaring from the crowd down below. They were ready for an act, a show. Those, fakes, foreign from the frame of the life that formed through her fights and fears. This is the thing they loved. Suddenly a form appeared on the chair. A gorgeous, most  beautiful woman with fiery red hair, seeming to flow without wind. Danya would hand the woman the bat and fall on her knees with a thump.  At this very moment she wished that her life would end before the pain struck. The woman would grin and the crowd would cheer. “Hit her hit her! Get her! Beat her down!” They shouted. This is what they liked, loved, lusted for, and longed for. The woman got ready like a baseball player, ready to strike the ball. She went for the first hit. The bat swung and the whistling wind was heard as the wooden bat made contact to her face. The mask went flying revealing her deformed face from the many times she had been beaten down before. “She deserves it!” all was forgotten now. The bright light faded, continuous beating could be heard. Danya not making a sound, she just hoped it would be over soon.  “Yeah!” They yelled, as they would hear the beating continue. The light came back shining. Blood on the ground. Silence filled the atmosphere. A gasp. A shriek. Red hair spread across the floor. The bat held high. Danya would turn around revealing the eerie grin on her mask.  

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