The Familiar Stranger
You reach your hand out to touch hers, fingers cold and hard, tracing the outline of her thin, pale cheeks. Her fingers move on to sketch the lines adorning her forehead, pausing only to scrape a chunk of dried mud from her barely recognisable face. They reach her grubby hair, fingers running through the knots and tangles, futilely attempting to keep it in order. But nothing about her life is ordered now, you think; rough fingers scratching the hard, twisted scar that disfigures the left cheek, as if a wicked knife had torn away all her beauty, destroying the sweet life she had enjoyed before. Now, she struggles to reach the end of each day, hiding her face, ashamed of her life, unable to meet your eyes. You remember how he had treated her, but wonder if it could have been any worse than she suffers now. Your gaze flickering back to the brand on her cheek, you think not; but her life is nothing now, worthless, the voice whispers, pointless.
Pointless.
The word seems to ring around your head, echoing. You can see the pain in her face, as it turns away from this truth, but then she glances back again at you, defiantly. Unable to keep this false bravery up, the marred face crumples, a tear running silently down her hard cheeks. A face hardened by a life of pain and suffering, you think. A harsh life. Could there be a future for a child of such an upbringing? Should she even bother trying? Wouldn’t it be better, you think, for her to end all this? To end all the pain, the shame, the disgusted looks from passersby. As these memories struck her too, the tears poured faster, a river of sorrow, flooding the valley that split her sweet face. She cried as she hadn’t cried since her mother died, leaving her alone with her bullying father. One day, in one of his drunken rages, he had struck her, leaving her bleeding, marked for life. She had run away, away from his mistreating hands, away from her mother’s grave. She had vowed to leave everything behind her, start again, but his brand tore her face in two, tore her life in two. The looks, questions and taunts followed her, and finally it had all caught up on her. The pain as she felt the last remains of her life torn away, as her mind turned on her was too much to bear, and now she cried for her mother once more. She cried for the life that she had never lived, that she never would live. And you see the tears wash the mud away from the stranger’s face, and stare into her eyes.