There walks by a young girl. Looking at the exterior, you see a healthy, beautiful, happy seventeen year old. She had the world on her shoulders, not a care. But lift up the sleeves, read the words she has written, and listen to the tone of every word spoken. She’s not perfect; her father disowns her existence, mother jumps from man to man, and the bruises across her fragile body show the true love her boyfriend feels for her.


Most have simply called her Jane. She never had much to give others, except the warm feeling you usually only get when you feel true love. Jane could always brighten ones day, so how was anyone to expect the cruelty that was inflicted upon her daily. Day in and out tears would flood her way out until she could no longer swim away from it all. But the way she covered the scars, wiped away the tear stains, and plastered a fake image for all to see was nothing more than mere habit.


Every day was the exact same for the most part in Jane’s world. She’d wake up, after only a few hours of sleep, to the sound of her mother screaming at another man to leave their home. School, she’d suffer through without one ounce of food. Even when she starved she still found that school was the best part of the day, being able to be happy and around others who cared. Then, her boyfriend, Ryan, would take her out to eat around five. Usually they’d just be sitting there in complete silence until he started hitting her brutally until she gave into anything he wanted. Only then did she know she’d rather be there than at home alone in her room with a few saltine crackers, as her mom walked in completely hammered with a different man than the night before. It was always the same thing constantly.


Each night she would wipe off her makeup smeared by her tears, take off the clothes that reminded her of the fears she’d suffered that day, and look into the mirror and pray to not be alive long enough to suffer more. She knew she’d be missed by the kids at school, maybe just a few days. Her mother would realize nothing though. Each night drugs hazed her enough that she didn’t even know she had a daughter, why would she have noticed later when she really didn’t?


Now we stand here at a polished rock with an angel high above. It reads Jane Marie Matthews, February 5, 1993-December 26, 2010. Her story finally ended after nights of terror and days of false happiness. We can’t forget that she now is perfect, happy, and in no more pain. We can’t forget that now her wishes have come true.