She wasn't sure of how many sweeps had passed. It may have been over fifty sweeps now, maybe only twenty. Time has a way of escaping through your fingertips when you live this long. She wasn't a cheerful girl anymore. Her belief in justice had been slowly undermined as the sweeps passed, her aspirations settled down lower than they first were and she was hardened by the aggressive surroundings. But one thing hasn't changed. She opened her box of crayons, now covered with dust, and picked the brightest red. Mindlessly scribbling on the floor, she inhaled. The cherry smell that gracefully made its way to her was almost too much to handle. It's like he was here now. She wasn't thinking straight anymore, and soon she was on her knees, then on the red ground. The smell was much stronger now, but the floor felt cold, so cold compared to her fading memories of the mutant blooded boy she longed for.