Page 3 - November Edition

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THE HER(O)

O n e c i t y , t h r e e w o m e n , t h r e e s i t u a t i o n s , m i l l i o n s o f
e m o t i o n s , b i l l i o n s o f t e a r s a n d t r i l l i o n s o f p a i n s . P a i n s ,
t e a r s a n d e m o t i o n s t h a t t h e w o r l d t u r n s a b l i n d e y e t o .
T h e h e r o e s , w e d e n y a c k n o w l e d g i n g .

H I B A Z A I D I

T H E On the corner of the street stands a
THE

peculiar little building. Even more odd is

the girl that goes in every day. Her eyes

M
I
LIMP are a hazel brown that light up like
L
P
melted honey in the sun, her nails always
painted a blush pink to match her rosy

cheeks, her dresses always have odd red

stains on them, and her face always

seems like the texture of the cakes she

so ardently adores baking at the café. No

one notices her slight limp, no one

notices the expensive car she comes out

the passenger side of, no one notices the

man watching her with hawk eyes, waiting

for her to fumble. Still, she keeps her

head up, ploughing through the day.