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  • The girl called out from between the bars, her words - her words have no apt analogy.

    Wh_re, f_g, piece of s_it, d_uche bag, dumb_ss, stupid _uck, lowlife, mother_ucker, c_nt

    I prefer to remember them with the spaces in between. She smelled. She had bedraggled hair - she was despised. I tried to be magnanimous. Sitting there, I could not escape the words.

    Wh_re, f_g, piece of s_it, d_uche bag, dumb_ss, stupid _uck, lowlife, mother_ucker, c_nt

    If only she would be silent. If only she would quiet. If only she made sense - what I had I done? We didn't know each other, had never met each other, but she called at me with a viciousness in her voice that cut deep. She called and called me out, trying everything to make me budge. Before her, I had never wanted to actually harm a human being - but hours of heated, directed anger with no seeming purpose, no reason wears a person down. It wore me down. I hated her.

    A year later, the headlines in a local paper spelled out "Underage prostitute overdoses, murder suspected, 'John' charged".

    She was 18 when she died. She was 10 when she got involved in a prostitution ring. 12 when she was first arrested. 14 when she first overdosed. 16 when she was returned to the streets by the state. 18 when she died. 17 when she met me.

    I see her face still.

    I will always remember her, always regret my unrealized intention.

    Hate is the most pathetic of emotions - I will always wonder at the possibility: what if, instead of hateful silence, I had had the courage to love?
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