And there was a girl who I knew the face of well. I saw her all the time, but I couldn't find her name in my mind.

To everyone else she was always a happy child, maybe one that had to overcome obstacles occasionally. (Nothing a pill here and a pill there couldn't fix). She was normal, perfectly average in almost every aspect of herself. She had her family and friends and they respected her normalcy while she respected their differences.

Her physical appearance was no different than others, but it was her actions and thoughts that were cruelly unforgivable. Which is why when others cried in front of her she comforted them...but when she cried, everyone turned away in abhorrence and neglect. Others' tears came from normal causes, while hers always came from excessively contrasting causes.

And she was normal. Perfectly average.

And when means of fabric or other kinds were used to cover up her imperfections, she was praised and applauded. But when the fabric fell short and exposed even the slightest bit of uniqueness, she was horribly hated...Screamed, yelled at because it was too different.

And she was absolutely normal..

So when she was found peculiarly swinging from the tree on that fall day, it was unlike how she had as a child.

It was different,

but this time, people praised, loved, and remembered her. And when they finally brought her down from the swing, others took a crumpled note from her hand and read what she knew they always wanted to hear,

"Even now, is she normal…Perfectly average?”