A girl is standing in front of me
Her hazel eyes hold mine in a deep gaze.
Deep brown hair frames her face
Lightly flecked with white snow flakes.
Her skin is pale and her face gaunt.
Skinny arms wrap a thin sweater tighter around her willowy body.
Her gaze is deep, intense,
I can not look away.
So many stories her mind holds,
How young she is,
'Naught sixteen if I should guess.
A thin hand lifts up slowly,
A small gun noticeable in her hand.
The girl slowly lifts the black machine and places it gently
On her temple.
Her eyes flare in one last warning
And her fragile finger pulls the trigger.
In unison with the mysterious girl,
I fall to the ground.
Deep red stains the icy pond
At my feet.