She sat down, wiping snowflakes so white and chrystalline from her shoulder length hair. Goosebumps adorned her pale flesh and her body visibly relaxed as warmth flooded through her. Upon the thinly carpeted floor lay a worn leather bag of stolen food and supplies, so difficult and painful to get ahold of - but it was what he had asked for and she'd obey his every wish. Tired and sore, the girl with no name closed her painted eyelids - now heavy from exhaustion - and rested her aching bones, falling into a comfortable sleep.

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Another thing I threw up. Again, I'm still planning to plan an actually half decent piece of writing. Planning to plan - does that even make sense? (:

updated Nov 17 '10 by OptimisticIdeals