The Stranger With The Orange Hair

Rain fell from the sky like teardrops, and smashed, as glass would, onto the concrete driveway. Anabelle stepped out into this storm, her emotions raging in symmetry with the weather as the latch on the old wooden door clicked.

A silver key hit the ground with a tinny ting amongst the various raindrops and, in her angry haste, Annabelle missed it. She shuffled off, hands deep in the pockets of her worn black overcoat.

Her eyes down, she barely noticed the man that she bumped into. It was one look up, a slow nod through the icy rain, and walk on without a second thought. It was always like that when Anabelle didn’t want a fight.

On the other hand, the stranger paid more attention to Anabelle. In fact, he had been watching her.

The entire week he had been copying her movements and noting her friends into the small black book stored in the exact shopping bag that Anabelle had walked into.

As the day got darker, the stranger with the orange hair reached down and picked up the little house key.

The End

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