Hello everybody. Just a few notes to the reader who dares upon this story. IT IS MERELY A WRITING EXERCISE, NOT A FULL STORY. I know the diction is horrible at some parts and I'm pretty sure I switch between past and present tense a ton. The intended purpose of this was to write a character people can come to love and then politely kill them off before 25,000 words under a time constraint. I am uploading it as is for the value of what my impromptu writing is, and if you see any major mistakes, call them out and I'll fix them. So... major warning: Character death. Obviously. Enjoy this semi-horrible piece of fanfiction.

I own none of these characters, plot lines, quotes or anything related to Star Wars.

Jamie walked down the sidewalk towards the coffee shop. Her hood was raised to protect herself from the falling leaves that autumn had caused. Kicking a small pile out of her way, she looked ahead to the coffee shop. In the window she could see claims of the best coffee around and various specials. Inside, two people sat at one table and a television played an old Lassie movie. Pulling the door open, she stepped inside, put her jacket down and waited for five minutes before her companion arrived.

"Can I get you anything?" a waitress asked.

"No thank you, I'm waiting on a friend"

The lady walked away and Jamie counted the minutes he was late as Lassie saved yet another person. Twenty minutes later the door chimed and a tall boy, a year younger than her, walked in the door. He turned around to close the door and his orange jacket matched the leaves falling outside. Seeing Jamie, he waved and met her near the counter. His snowy white blond hair was sticking up in odd ways, the wind obviously the culprit. Smiling at the boy, Jamie ordered a coffee and sat down at a table with him.

"How's it going Paul?"

"Good, thank you Jamie. How was your golf match?"

Trying not to frown, Jamie played with her coffee cup and spun it around on the saucer. Golf was a family business and sport. It was expected of her to play but the coach demanded lots from her. Plus there were things going on at home and she could never focus on her game. In the end she would become so paranoid about doing well that she found herself having mini-panic attacks. People encouraged her, but it was senior year and sports looked good on college applications.

"Eh, it was alright. We won again, but it was a rough day," Jamie watched her coffee as she spoke. It was hard to look Paul in the eyes sometimes. His crystal blue orbs would see through even her thickest visage.

"Well the season is almost over and I think you guys are going to be the league champions. Doesn't that make you happy?" Of course it did, but it was just hard. There's no easy way to explain to a person that you just can't emotionally take what you're doing. Smiling, Jamie just nodded and sipped her coffee, which was delicious by the way.

Paul was a good guy in all aspects, but just not the guy who was good for her. It truly hurt her that he was such a nice guy and here she was, probably breaking his heart. He was the first guy to honestly ever have a liking towards Jamie. At first she was honored but over time she realized nothing good would come of the two being together. He needed somebody better than her. He deserved much better than Jamie. Yet here she was, in a coffee shop with him, talking small talk. Mentally slapping herself, she tried to convince herself not to like the newfound attention. It would only hurt him.

Later that night, Jamie found herself in her room, staring at her reflection. There was a certain spark in her eyes. Night was the best time of the day for her; it represented everything she ever liked. The solitude, the quiet, and the darkness surrounded her like a familiar glove. Her parents, who had been "arguing" earlier, had gone to bed. Jamie was disgusted they still slept in the same bed. Eddie, her brother, was gone for the night with his friends who were a horrible influence on him. Pulling out her laptop, Jamie sat down and began writing. It was her favorite thing to do at night. There was a method of escaping that writing could provide more than any drug ever could.

Her phone lit up; it was Paul. Silencing it, Jamie turned back to the latest adventure of her main protagonist and sat down for a good night. Just as she typed the first word, a red light passed by her window. It was no larger than a book, but it was visible. In her county, a place in the middle of nowhere, something as foreign as this was considered bad luck. Stepping up to the glass, Jamie pressed her nose onto it as she peered out into the darkness. She saw nothing but she knew where the red light ended up. About 20 miles away, in a soy-bean field, there was defiantly something. Whatever it was, she was unsure of though.

Choosing laziness, Jamie sat back down to her laptop and typed away until at least three a.m. Sunday, the next day; Jamie awoke with a headache, regretting the writing done last night. It had been beneficial though-she had completed another 5,000 words of her story. Getting out of bed was a chore, and when she sat down in front of the window to do her makeup Jamie nearly had a heart attack. There, standing in the middle of her road was a man dressed in all black and watching her. No other explanation was needed. Her pulse increased and her breathing became ragged. He looked like a figure of her famous nightmares or one of her more demented stories.

Running out of her room and down the stairs, Jamie made her way to the front door where she swung it open with a force beyond her own knowledge and looked at the street. There was nobody standing there. The man had gone. Collapsing back against the wall, she struggled for breath and tried to calm herself. It was early, she was probably still not totally awake, and nobody else lived on her road. Reasons for a man standing on her road and directly looking at her were few and far between. Shaking her head, Jamie laughed at herself a little and rested her head against the wall.

Mondays were a drag and Jamie hated them with all of her heart. Monday meant school and school meant people she didn't like and people who didn't like her. Sometimes this meant bulling but not all the time. She had friends, plenty of them, but it was always better to be alone in her mind. English, her last class of the day, was dragging by slowly and there was no way to speed it up. Zoning out, Jamie stared out the window of her classroom and watched more leaves fall. Absent-mindedly drawing things on her paper, she found herself sketching the man's face.

"What was Hassan's fate…? Miss Penzien?" The teacher asked.

Snapping her head up, Jamie answered, "He was executed by the Taliban." She had read ahead the first day she received The Kite Runner so she would not be stumped by silly questions such as those. Returning to her drawing, she ignored the kids who had hoped for another unobserving student to receive detention. It was always funny when it wasn't you. His face was shrouded by the hood he was wearing, but she could tell it was grotesquely painted. Red and black splotches covered his face and he had teeth of a four year old who was addicted to candy.

"After Amir realizes the fate of Hassan he is upset, and this leads him to take on the role-"

"Who is that?!" a girl in the class yelled.

Jamie was broken from her doodling to see the girl point out the window to a man in a dark hooded cape. He stared at Jamie through the windows and smiled broadly. Pulse quickening, she could feel a panic attack coming on. Gripping both sides of her desk, she realized that she had not been imagining the man from earlier that week. This meant that he knew where she lived; Jamie concluded from this that he was following her. Standing from her seat, she pulled the windows close to prevent him from climbing in.

"Class," The teacher yelled and everybody turned away from the window. "He is probably in theater class so return your attention to the book!"

Looking back out the window, the mysterious figure was gone, and murmurs spread throughout the classroom. Nearly half the school saw this man standing on the school lawn and had their suspicions as to who it was. Speaking to a friend in theatre class, Jamie knew it was not some stunt pulled by one of her friends. None were this cruel. Everywhere she went she felt as if she was being watched or followed. Looking over her shoulder became a habit and glancing around each corner was a precaution. Her life was a living hell.