She sat on the steps of the porch of the house on a dead-end street. She looked so terribly out of place on the clean white-washed wood, a filthy thing, covered in leaves and grime. She sat there, wasting away, piece by piece, bit by bit, day by day. People begged her to eat, to sleep, to at least get up, but she refused to budge. She would smile sweetly- or as sweetly as one could when they haven't showered in weeks- and say,
"I promised I be here. I promised."
Eventually, people gave up on trying to help her. She is still watching, waiting, hoping , with her once vibrant eyes, now glassy , dull and lifeless, and yet still waiting.
She was waiting for someone that would, and could never come.