Beauty (trigger warning: descriptive language)

Hard, soft, hard.  Hard, soft, hard.  She rocks in a rhythm,  a pattern, a silent rhyme.  Hard, soft, hard.  Bony knees clenched tightly under her chin, skinny arms wrapped around like a ragged bow on a present never to be opened.  Hard.  Soft.  Hard.  Huge luminous eyes stare straight ahead, eyes made to seem even larger, sunk deep in their pits of shadow.  Mouth open slightly, a rifled purse,  soft keening cries spilling constantly forth. Hard.  Hard enough for her head to impact the cold cinderblock wall with a muffled thunk.  Soft.  Soft but fast, back and forth, quiet swish of cloth on the painted cement floor.  Hard once again.  Thunk.  And still the cries, still the stare, still the eyes that see nothing but the past, the past which is her eternal present…hard..soft…hard.