"God help the girl; she needs all the help she can get" God Help the Girl
The porcelain floor feels cold under her feet, like the smooth, grey stones scattered across the beaches of her childhood. She is waiting. What she is waiting for she cannot say. She is just waiting; waiting for anything, anything to interrupt the dull ache filling her tiny body. As the woman behind the cheap, plastic desk calls her name, she continues to sit motionless, until the men in their ivory capes, like a pair of circling gulls, come to lift her from her stupor.