A figure
silently glides down the street. A black leather trench coat swings.
Strands of long blood red hair slip out of the hat its tucked into.
The figure spins to a stop. You can see her combat boots, fish-net
stockings, short black and red plaid skirt, black utility belt, and
black wife beater that comes to a stop right above here navel.
She
looks behind her. Her face is slim, and pale, with black lipstick.
Her Golden eyes surrounded by thick black eye liner, mascara, and eye
shadow. No one follows. She pulls her duffel bag up higher on her
shoulder, tucks her hair back into her hat, and continues on her way.
The girl is now
on an empty highway; she stops and pulls a silver disk out of her
belt. She does something with it, then throws it into the night sky.
It explodes into red fireworks. She grins, then turns and runs. She
runs faster than should be possible.
The girl slowed to a stop by
a giant maple tree, and threw her duffel into the tree. She climbed
up into the branches and fell asleep.
Somewhere in New York, a name rang out through many minds Leala.