Metaphors

by emma jo_234
originally published at 04:57PM on Friday, October 12, 2007

Her hand was clasped over her mouth, but you could see the light and humor in her misty eyes. She was afraid to smile for the world to see, afraid to show any sign that she wasn’t her usual meek self.
The girl looked old for her age. She could have passed for fourteen or fifteen despite her real age of twelve. She was called Serena, and she kept her soul wrapped in layers of security and self-conscience. She rarely spoke or gave her opinion, and even more rarely allowed others to see that she was having a good time.
Serena watched the world with a perception few people would have believed possible. She could look past the fronts that those around her put on. She often felt that she was merely an onlooker in the game of life instead of a player. Had the people around her known this, they would have agreed.
Serena kept the hand over her mouth until the smile died down. She glanced around and wrapped her arms around her legs, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the lack of warmth that Monday morning.

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