"Do you ever get the feeling like you're not the protaganist of your own story?" she asked one day, as they walked by the lakeside. The girl beside her took a while to answer. "Maybe, but I sure do know they're missing out on a heck of a story." Of things untold.

His teeth were yellow and jagged. His eyes seemed to be glassy chunks of obsidian that swirled around in his sockets. A club rested threateningly in his grubby palm. All of this was wrapped in a demonic smile, like the bow on the horrifying present. She reacted to this new development like any rational, life-loving child. She screamed and fell off the curb.