Please rate my short story?
Sitting alone in the empty gray doorway, shiny tears running down her cheeks, the girl is all but invisible, huddled into a pitiful ball which blends into her dismal surroundings. No one knows or cares to know her name or her reason for crying. No is around to ask.
Tentatively lifting her disheveled head into the crisp, cool fall wind, the shadow of a barren oak, it's leaves departed in fear of winter's wrath, falls across her face, concealing it from the view of any onlooker. She shudders, perhaps recalling whatever horrid thing that caused her tears, or perhaps just reminiscing about the utter despair the world provides her in general.
Out of the cocoon of her arms and torso her legs slide, long and thin, the hem of her pants wrinkled and muddy. She unclasps her arms, and wipes evidence of her sadness from her cheeks with gloved hands. She picks up a dirty pink satchel, and, swinging it heavily across her back, squares her shoulders. She runs her fingers through her mane of hair, long and streaming away from her in the breeze.
And then, she smiles.
Not a real smile, as she, and anyone who might have been looking on would know, but the kind one plasters on, pulling lips away from teeth, perhaps chuckling a little to convince oneself that somewhere, deep within the darkest reaches of her heart, she really is happy. This girl is hoping that this crescent-shaped lie on her face will trick not only outsiders, but herself as well.
Suddenly, there are other people, dozens of coats and hats and laughs and waves, milling about. There are too many voices to comprehend what anyone is saying, too many bodies to single any one in particular out.
She is gone.
No one notices where the girl went. Of course they don't, they don't know who she is. No one knows or cares to know her name or why eyes her look as though they have been crying, even though there are many around to ask.