Window Child

The train arrives at my stop at about 6:49 P.M. I have money for an apartment, but I don't really enjoy the cramped spaces of apartments. They seem too cluttered for me. But this is all I’ve got; I’ve got no other choice.

          I hesitantly hop off of the subway train with everyone else, struggling to grab my backpack, as it weighs about a ton. I’m good at blending in with the crowds, as long as the general population is used to carrying boulder-filled backpacks. One of my favorite quotes: “You don’t know anyone until you’ve walked in their shoes.” Well, it explains a lot. Most people don’t take heed to the warnings they think are jokes. I never thought I would become the girl that walks the streets alone, wandering, looking for someone to help me. But that’s me now.

          I didn’t know such things could happen.

          But it did.

          It was just the last month when...when they were.......murdered. I can't understand why such horrible things would happen to them. They didn’t do anything wrong! At least...I didn’t think so...

          Some of my friends that knew me said I was a natural detective. I can usually find the cause of things that happen. It comes easier to me than others who try to be it. I think of it more of a hobby for me, mostly because I enjoy it.

          I keep walking, thinking, and I don't notice the ragged stone in the ground about the width of my foot. I carelessly trip and I almost face-plant into the disgusting, faded-green paneled floor. But something stops me. Something grips the back of my black leather jacket.

          I turn around to find myself staring at a puny-looking guy about my age, maybe older. He looks like he would be playing the victim as a bullied nerd in high school. I am surprised to the point of speechlessness, which, for me, is hard to come by. I can't say a thing.

The End

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