The girl sits in the corner,
coddling the paper between her slender, frail hands,
holding her baby as her mother showed her with her screaming brother.
The paper does not scream.
Instead it tries to comfort,
crinkling sweet nothings as the roar of two stubborn-headed beasts that hold the title of mother and father bellow curses at each other and she,
that young soul,
coddles her one slice of hope,
her one refuge in her world of misunderstanding and neglect.
What she holds, with that tiny A printed at the top, no red ink seeping onto her hands, no missed answers to any of lifes questions, is a key.
Her one chance to break free from the beasts and the screaming and the thirst and the hunger for a better world.
She holds the key.
No matter how hard she grasps as they pull, no matter how challenging it may be, she will never let go of the key she has to a new world.
A better one, with her in it.