Here she sits, just hoping, wondering, what would happen? She sits and stares. Her life was not a pretty fairy tale, but the question approaches: why? why is she always getting the back hand of things?

Her writings, at times, can be so intense. The readers just want to see the explosion that's inching toward them.

Speaking, speeches are her worst fear. They bring out the stuttering stutter that increases her slurred wording. Her native tongue speaks outwardly, the r's disappear. "Turtle" appears to be "Too Tall." Each word, a barrier to the next, her sheepish face turns pink, red, white. White, the hands fly toward the face while she slides down the podium. "deep breathe in" she silently mutters under her rapid breathe.. her sentence structure falls into a black hole, trembling, eyes shoot toward the closed, trap - door. Door - freedom, freedom, where's freedom? trap through freedom?