The park was abandoned, except for her. Dawn Westgate sat motionless on an olive colored bench, her pale head looking up. The sky was dark, with a lone, ashen cloud floating slowly across the heavens. She liked days like this, when the world was recovering from the aftershock of a storm.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he was there. The dark figure stood wearing a charcoal waistcoat that stretched down to his leather boots. He wore similar colored shades and had a long thick mop of ugly blond hair. Dawn casually reached into her jeans pocket and felt around, fingering her 6’’ long pocketknife.
“None of that, I’m not going to hurt you” the man soothed, his voice high pitched and with a slight Russian accent. He was staring at the outline of the shank in her pocket. The girl eyed him hard before replying “What do you want?” Her voice was monotonous, but soft from the fear that was growing since the man appeared.
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