The Girl and her Shell

Time and time again, she’d not only experimented with her shell, but she’d also lent it to others, to use, for their benefit only.
She convinced herself that this was ok, but the problem was that when she’d step back into her shell, everything that was released into it, pain, angst, fear, lust-even pleasure, permeated into her. Straight to her heart, and to her soul-tarnishing it, sometimes only a little, sometimes more than she could handle, which could days, even weeks, to recover from. 
Though she had long forgotten about it, she’d once again become aware of this separation.  The separation of her shell from essence.
Some time during her first 10th,  it was at a party, some family gathering, that the separation had been so acute during her waking hours.
“It” was like a robot, put it’s boots and coat on, exited the house, and walked into the crisp air…Her essence still hadn’t returned.
She didn’t speak at all, rather felt like a zombie.
Once home, she went straight to bed, without a word. Nothing was said, and never did she speak of it, ever, to anyone.
It was undetermined henceforth, when reconnection occurred, however she not given it a single thought until almost her fourth 10th, when I’d been commissioned to write for her.  She hadn’t the need, you see, or perhaps her essence locked it away into the pocket of her mind till now. Now, when she’s ready to understand this separation.
But hang on…No, that wasn’t the first time. Often time, (around her first 10th), whilst walking home from school, she felt lower, closer to the ground and actually, that she wasn’t walking at all, rather- floating.
She’d once even tried to simulate that feeling of floating, got down on her knees, and walked along for a few steps, but it wasn’t quite it-not quite the feeling of floating.
She knew they thought she was weird, and ugly, at that. She just went along with it, knowing otherwise, that she was “different.”
Today she’d tell you that it was though her shell was her own puppet. She was always close by, in control, watching. At least whilst she was alive, during her waking hours. It was a totally different story when she bid farewell to the day, and died to the night.
The very last time she disconnected from her shell, left her so weak. He was like a vulture, homing in on his prey, and she knew it.  The moment she detached, he devoured it, and when she stepped back into her shell that time, nothing but pain permeated through to her essence. Nothing.

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