That was a mystery, indeed riddled all the way. The dress was too short and her legs too long. Her hairs were very small and her hair-band too big to fit. Her face was too large and her eyes too tiny to spot. Her lips were crimson red and her face was powdered white. She walked awkwardly and looked amused to everything she saw on her way. She stumbled all the way and hit herself like a hundred times. She scratched her forehead and frowned when sun rays attacked her tiny eyes. In times alone, in the corner of a rickety bus which commuted people of disdain land, of forgone names, she took a seat torn from top to bottom and rested herself, Looked beyond the windows of the bus to see if something was a little perfect around. Sun was setting, birds were rushing to their homes and she was saturated in a moving bus. Her tiny eyes were too strained to know more imperfectness around so she closed them. But the lids were open and the fluid was out, it was dry; she realised in a moment. She looked beyond, the sun was gone. Inside the bus passengers were lost. She tried to sob but realise she had no voice inside. She got up and asked the conductor to halt the bus, which he said was since long.