For days, maybe even weeks, I walked on my own in no specific direction. I came all the way to a small town near the borders of Nebraska. I survived mostly on food that I stole on market places and I washed myself at the bathrooms of public libraries and places like that. I remember feeling very alone, which of course, I was. I was too afraid to talk to anyone, not even to other kids that lived on the streets. Always alone.

Then one night, as I was strolling through town, I was attacked. At first I thought they were just regular robbers trying to have some fun, but then I saw their eyes. Glowing red, scary eyes. Like some crazy kind of instinct, I took the dagger out of my bag and stabbed the one that was closest to me. Black, smelling stuff oozed out of the wound stinging and burning away the flesh where it touched my skin. Of course I didn't kill it, come on, I was just a little kid and they were three grown men – or whatever the hell they were. But clearly, they didn't expect it and for a moment they were kind of stunned. A moment was all I needed to get away from them. In the few days that I had been in this city, I had done a lot of exploring and I knew most of the down alleys. To my own amazement, I got away again. I spent a few days and night in an old abandoned cellar after that. I was too afraid to do anything else. When I finally decided that I couldn't stay down there forever, I came out and left the city. Sounding pretty tough for a nine year old, right? I'm glad I was. I don't believe that I would have lived today otherwise.

After that first attack I knew there would be more to come. There had to be. And when they would come for me again, I would be prepared.

So when I arrived in North Platte, Nebraska I started to train myself. I used old matrasses, pillows and anything else I could find on the street to practice kicks, hitting and stabbing with my precious dagger. Building up stamina, jumping and climbing was easy enough: I can't even count the amount of times the police chased me after my stealing some food. These occasions became less and less frequent though, as I started to learn how to be swift and unnoticeable. Some days I would watch martial arts classes through a window and try to copy their moves. And then there were the countless days I spent in libraries, reading about fighting and all things related. I always kept on going though, never daring to stay in one place for more than one week.

The next time I was attacked by Blacks (as I had started to call them in my read, referring to the black, smelling stuff they seemed to shed instead of blood) I was already halfway through Nebraska. It was about a month and a half after the first attack. I had just finished watching the local kung fu class. It wasn't as good as the one I followed in Alliance, but I did learn an awesome high kick that could come in useful later on. As it did, only a few minutes later. I was walking back to the alley I used as a temporary home when two Blacks blocked my path. They were different from the once I saw before. One was a man with glowing ruby eyes, like the Blacks I had seen on my previous encounters. The other one, however, was more like a dog than it was human. Its big black head rested on muscular shoulders and although it was on all fours, it could easily top my 5ft3. Needless to say I was scared shitless and couldn't remember a thing of what I had been teaching myself. So, naturally, I ran. Yes I ran away AGAIN (and I ruhuhun, I run so far awahahay – Sing it!). Anywho, that day I was not as lucky as I had been on my previous encounters with Blacks. When I got back to my hiding place in the alley, a leaky shed made out of corrugated sheets, I was greeted by the dog. Without thinking, adrenalin took over again. Suddenly all my newfound skills came into action. I used the kick I learned that day to kick him a few feet back, giving myself enough time to grab the dagger out of my backpack. When the dog(ishthing) launched itself to me, I ducked while at the same time bringing my hand with the beautiful engraved dagger in the air. It sunk deep into the flesh of the Black, slicing open the upper part of its chest. I screamed and cried in pain when the black goo touched my skin, burning its way through the flannel shirt I was wearing. Still, I managed to pull the dagger back. The Black screeched, and I jumped back when it started to blaze a bright orange fire (fake fire, I would guess since there was no smoke. And fire without smoke is no real fire, right?), before disappearing into thin air. Breathing heavily, I slumped against the alley wall, staring wide-eyed at the scorched mark on the ground where the Black had lied just seconds ago. Unfortunately I did not have a lot of time to recover. While I was crawling back up, the second Black appeared from behind a dumpster. In one big leap it was right in front of me, pinning me against the wall. Fortunately, I still had the dagger in my hand. I trusted it forward, into the abdomen of the man-shaped Black. The glow in its eyes died out. Right before it bursted into orange flames, it spoke its strange ancient language. "Muoste rish Fertigo tir". That was what it said. Not that I knew what it meant for years after that.

When the second Black had disappeared, I stood there frozen for a couple of minutes. It was all utterly ridiculous when you came to think of it. Me, a nine (almost ten) year old girl was running aimlessly across the country all on my own, whilst being followed by murderous monsters filled with toxic black insides. And I had just killed two of them! Then that thought really hit me: I had just killed a man. And a doggything for all that mattered. What if the man had been just a man on some weird kind of drugs that made his eyes shine red? Did that mean that I was a killer? On the other hand, we did learn in school that it was OK to hit someone if it was self-defense. Maybe the same rule applied to murder as well? I then decided that it didn't really matter anyway. I was already doomned anyway (what with my mom getting killed and all) so it was not like God could punish me any worse than he had already). And I was already running from the Blacks so I could just as well be running from the police at the same time. With that decision, I packed up my few possessions and took off again