Five years later, she sat alone everyday, in the little school hallways, thinking and thinking, while groups of friends passed by without noticing her- partly her fault for being so anti-social because she knew she wouldn't be loved; her parents never did... They never took the time to be with her.
She always carried her little purple plushie with her- a fuzzy and soft little bunny toy she kept so close to her heart- which had just turned half her age. It was the closest thing to her ever.
One summer night her parents forced her to join a camping night-out with other teens to get her out of the house. The other teens laughed at her and her little bunny plushie. She sat, alone, looking through the camp fire, gazing into nothing. One of the boys ran from behind her and took her little purple plushie and threw it in the fire. It crazkled and sizzled, eliminating the girl's cries. Everyone laughed, sneered, or quietly walked away back towards their tents. The campfire went out, and the next morning she was found, burns to her hands, feet and face, dead on the ashed ground, with the remains of her little bunny plushie, held tightly in her arms.
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