When Sara was growing up, her "magic crayons" helped her escape the pain. Now as an adult and the world famous Art Angel, can they help her to find the life she's always dreamed of?

The angels didn't come but the next morning did. Sara knew what she had to do if she wanted to save herself more beatings. She went to school and told her teacher she was sorry for making up tales and that she knew she was really a boy. Her teacher wasn't overly convinced and the students hardly forgiving. Sara's story had spread all over the school and she was taunted with chants of "Sissy Sara" every time she walked out on the playground. The boys started bullying her and knocking her down calling her a "Poof", and the girls just giggled and made faces at her. Sara ended up sitting alone on the playground with the only true best friends she'd ever known: her imagination and her magic crayons.

When Sara returned home that day her father was waiting for her. He'd decided it was time to take a firm hand in his son's education, hoping to mold the boy into the young man he'd always dreamed of having. He spent the evening teaching his "son" about sports and how to fight back against the bullies who sorted her out at school. Sara hated sports, and hated fighting, and she hated that her father made her do these things, but nonetheless she couldn't hate him. He was still her father, and despite all that he'd done to her, she still wanted his love, so if only for him, she tried to be the best boy she could be. Yet within her heart, she held a child's hope that one day her parents might see she really was their daughter and love her all the same.

So each morning Sara went to primary school and suffered through the teasing, the beatings, the aloneness, and the pain of watching other little girls do and have all the things she was denied.

Each afternoon she would come home and change into play clothes and wait for daddy to come home and give her those terrible boy lessons, which no matter how hard she tried, she was horrible at.

The late evenings and the nights though belonged to Sara. No matter what the weather, she would always manage to slip away to the barn and play up in the hayloft. It was a very special place for Sara because that is where she kept her crayons, colored pencils and paper she'd nicked from school and smuggled past her mummy. It was also a very safe place as she always sat by the window and could see her father coming long before he could get to the barn. She kept all her supplies well hid; knowing her father would beat her badly if he found out she had crayons at home and was drawing girly pictures again.

She still colored during recess at school but she was very careful to let no one see what she was coloring, save for the few times the boys took her papers from her and beat her up for drawing "Sissy Sara" pictures. She also never brought home anything from school she ever colored, as her father would see to it that she received the same fate.

But up in the safety of loft, she used her crayons and her imagination to create worlds where Sara could play again and be a real little girl. With the help of her magic crayons she was a super hero, a fairy tale princess, and even a beautiful pink-winged angel. It was these stolen moments each day that helped the little girl hold onto life when everything and everyone else around refused to believe she even existed.

Sara's life continued pretty much the same all the way through primary school. She never lost the tag of "Sissy Sara", and as a result was never accepted by the boys or the girls there. At home her mother watched in pained silence as Sara's father continued trying to make a boy out of her, and with every failed effort by Sara, her father got angrier and Sara withdrew that much more. Thankfully she had her sanctuary in the loft, as she needed it more and more as time went on. She colored by moonlight and lantern and she colored in the winters until her fingers were too cold to grip the crayon.

Sara's little girl spirit seemed frozen in time as it never aged a day, but her boy's body continued to grow, as did her artistic talent. By the time she was twelve, colored pens and pencils replaced crayons, and sketchpads replaced coloring books. The little girl still colored her fairy tale princesses and unicorns, but she also added sketches of young girls who were blossoming into womanhood, a womanhood little Sara was never going to know. She loved to melt into those pictures, living the lives of the characters she created, but then her father's voice would call her in and she'd return to the hell that was her real life.

Occasionally her father would ask her why she spent so much time in the loft, and Sara would lie saying she was reading or studying or just playing games. She wasn't sure if her father really believed, and several times she returned to her sanctuary to find her father had been up there rummaging around, but obviously he'd never found anything. If he had, she'd being wearing bruises and welts as proof of his discovery.

Sara's life outside her coloring held little joy for her and no chances to be a girl but then one late August afternoon that changed. The thirteen-year-old was walking along the road by the house. It was one of her rare trips out but a necessary one as her mother had sent her to the neighbors to borrow some flour.

Sara was walking down the road, half lost in thought about the school year to come, wondering if "Sissy Sara" would fair any better in college than she did primary school, when she spied an old suitcase lying in the weeds. Wondering what treasures the brown leather bag might hold she pulled it from the weeds and then undid the straps. When she opened it, her big blues eyes lit up and she grinned from ear to ear. The suitcase obviously had belonged to a woman as it was packed full of pretty dresses, blouses, and skirts.

Sara reached in and gently stroked the soft material and sighed dreamily. It was the first time she'd really held a dress since the beating her father had given her for wearing one. She was tempted to look through the whole lot right where she stood but it was far too dangerous, so she closed the suitcase and hid it in the weeds. She would take her mother's flour to her and then try to slip back for it that evening after her "boy lessons" were done.

The sun was just setting as Sara slipped away to retrieve her buried in the weeds treasure. She made quick time back to the roadside, as she couldn't risk her father calling for her and her not answering. Her heart was pounding and her breath ragged, part from her sprint and part from the excitement of the forbidden fruit the suitcase held.

Sara checked the road, making sure it was deserted, before pulling the suitcase back out of the weeds and properly exploring its contents. There were well over a dozen dress and skirt/blouse outfits. Sara's hands trembled as she held each one up to her, pushing the soft silky material across her body and imagining what it would be like to wear it and have the body to fill it out properly. It was intoxicating and soon she found herself holding a dress close to her and dancing in the tall grass.

The clothes were a few years out of style, and a few sizes too big for the slender shapeless girl, but to Sara they were beautiful magical gowns and she wanted them all. Sadly, she knew that was impossible. She still bore the scars both mental and physical from the beating her father gave her the last time he'd caught her in a dress. With tears welling in her eyes, she neatly folded the clothes and placed them back in the suitcase. The last outfit she packed was her favorite: a long patchwork scrunch skirt, and a beautiful crá¨me colored silk peasants blouse.

She said goodbye to her treasures and slowly shut the suitcase. She tried to get up to leave, as she knew she needed to hurry back, but she couldn't move. Her hands trembled as they returned to the suitcase and reopened it. This was stupid and she knew it. It would be father-assisted suicide if she was caught, but death of another kind if she left without it. Sara took a deep breath, pulled the skirt and blouse to her chest and then scurried back home to hide it in the loft along with her other treasures.

For the first few evenings, Sara just took out the clothes and held them close, not daring to put them on for fear her father would catch her. She'd lay on her stomach, her treasures by her side, and make sketches by moon or lantern light. It wasn't long though before her need to wear that outfit overruled her fear and good sense.

Sara's spirit seem to soar the moment she slipped into the silky blouse and flowing skirt. It was food and freedom to a soul starving for both. Away from the window overlooking the house she was a barefoot princess spinning and twirling and dancing on air. Once she finally settled down to draw, she found even her artistic talent drew life from her attire. The sketches she made while dressed in those clothes were the best she had ever created. Sara hadn't felt that happy or alive since she was a toddler. She felt like was going to die when her father's voice called her in for the night. It was as if taking off that outfit and putting away her sketchpads were cutting off her oxygen and she couldn't breathe again until she returned. It was so hard for her to "hold her breath" all day but knowing what awaited her at night gave her the courage to do so.

School started a few weeks after Sara had found her new clothes, and just as she feared, "Sissy Sara" was outed there as well and college was as lonely and painful as primary school had been. Her father was pushing her even harder to be the young man she wasn't spiritually, and was barely physically. She was still a short, skinny, pale- skinned boy with big blue eyes and blonde hair far better suited for a girl. Despite all her father's boy training she couldn't play a sport, she couldn't heave an axe, and she wouldn't fire a gun.

Sara thought she could almost see defeat in her father's eyes after refusing to fire his rifle. She had every reason to expect another good beating, but instead he just turned and walked away, muttering to himself something about how he'd been cheated.

Sara naturally assumed he meant cheated from having the son he'd always wanted, which was half right but little did she know the other half of the story. Sara even contemplated trying to go to her father again, and tell him whom she truly was. Surely by now, with all her miserable failures at trying to be a boy, he could see she was really a girl, and then maybe he might finally be able to accept her as his daughter. Her mother had believed once before and she was sure she could convince of the truth once again. In fact, there were times that Sara thought maybe her mother still did believe. She had never said that in words, but Sara thought she saw it in her eyes when she'd come in from the barn. It was almost as if her mother knew what she was doing up there and was glad she at least had that.

Several times Sara had half worked up the courage to tell her father, but lost it each time she saw the big man and his perennial scowl. Unfortunately for Sara she never got the chance to bring it to him, as he came to her and the results cost Sara her home and very nearly her life.

It was Indian summer and the breeze blew warm and sweet that evening. The sun was nearly gone and Sara was half way to heaven as was she dressed in her skirt and blouse, and sketching a lovely scene. Perhaps it was the combination of the comfortable clothes, the gentle breeze and the long hard day but Sara did the unthinkable, she feel asleep.

An hour or so later, Sara's father yelled for her, but she didn't answer. Her father wasn't one to yell twice so when Sara failed to show he went up to the loft to get her.

Sara awoke to angry shouting and a sharp pain in her side. The shouts were from her furious father, and the pain was from his boot as he kicked hard in the ribs. Sara tried to move, tried to speak, but she never got the chance to do either, as a crashing right hand came down and everything went black.

When Sara awoke she was laying in the backyard outside the house. Her father was towering over her, screaming and punching her. Just as before, she couldn't move as the big man had her pinned down. She tried to talk, to cry out and beg him to stop, but all she could do was choke from the blood filling her mouth. She knew this was it. Her father wasn't going to stop this time and then mercifully she lost consciousness again, sure that the next face she saw over her would be an angel.

In the early hours of the morning, an angel did wake Sara, an earth angel of sorts, her mother. She helped Sara find her feet, but they didn't do her much good, as she stumbled badly and fell again. Sara hurt everywhere. Breathing brought tears to her eyes. Even the cool drink of water her mother gave her, burned her cracked lips. As she finally began to come around, she could see the damage as well as feel it. Her beautiful outfit was in shreds and stained in her own dried blood. Her father hadn't killed her, but it was a miracle he hadn't.

Sara's mother helped her over to barn and then told her to sit and rest for a moment, as she would return shortly. Sara lapsed in and out of consciousness until her mother returned. When she did, she handed Sara a bag with some clothes, food and what was left of her treasured art materials in it. Even though she was still half-dazed Sara would never forget her mother's words. "I know somehow you really are my Sara. I have always known, but I was too afraid of your father to stand up to him and say so and I was too afraid of what the world would do to you, if you said so. I was wrong and I should never have let him hurt you, but I swear to you he will never lay a hand on you again. Honey, I don't know if you can, but I hope someday you can forgive me."

Sara hugged her mother tightly as tears flowed freely. Finally, her mother broke the embrace and then handed Sara a small pouch. When Sara opened it she founded a few pounds and shillings that her mother had squirreled away. She told Sara this was all she had to give her but she hoped it would be enough for her to start a new life. She kissed Sara and gave her these final words. "Run Sara, and don't come back, because they'll be nothing here for you to come back to."

Sara felt like she had just found her mother again and didn't want to leave. She begged her mother to come with her, but the woman refused saying she had unfinished business with her husband. She kissed Sara one last time and said she needed to get back inside should Sara's father wake up.

Sara watched her mother walk back up toward the house, and then just before entering, she turned and blew Sara a kiss. Sara smiled and waved as she watched her mother disappear. Sighing heavily, she grabbed her bag and headed for the woods. She wasn't able to run but she did walk until exhaustion claimed her. As she drifted off to sleep beneath the moonlight, she wondered if her mother's words were true. Would there ever be anything to go back home for?