Somewhere, there is a girl.
She's a lot like you. She's sixteen, she has a mom,
she has friends. She didn't have big plans on what she wanted out of life,
but what she did have did not include this.
Presently she is sitting in a stairwell, back against
the wall. The stairwell is in a warehouse. It's not a good part of town.
If she screams, no one is going to rescue her. But of course she wouldn't
think of screaming.
She's watching the door. She's trying to get her
shoulder to stop bleeding.
Those friends? Aren't here now.
Very soon some other people are going to be coming.
And she only has two shots left on a borrowed gun. The man who lent it
to her is probably dead.
Her watch is broken, but the last time she'd checked
it it had said Too Late.
All she can do is wait.
And though she doesn't think about it, one thing
is very certain.
Very soon she is going to die.
Again.
-----