When Carol came back to her senses she realized she was still standing, but only inches away from death as her right hand was cupped around her breast instead of clawing into the fence, a gust of wind hitting her mere seconds after she had caught on to it again.Her sense of hearing returned before she ever realized it had been absent in the first place, the voices now reaching her ears loud and crystal clear. There were complaints mixed with the usual afterglow of inflicting death that Carol had grown all too used to.One was of the opinion they had wasted time and effort on a small time criminal, another one was unhappy with the lack of evidence and a third commented that ‘the lucky bastard’ had had the time for one last wank before he died.That was when Carol finally realized she was indeed safe. They seemed to have missed the signs of her presence, probably the pair of jeans and shirt she had worn were manly enough to look just like the other clothes in the room. Carol couldn’t help. Maybe not looking her age was why they gave her that weird nickname, Poke.She had brown hair like mine, but where mine was just brown, hers somehow was shiny and full of different highlights. Her hair just looked fucking sparkly. Her blue eyes also didn't hurt much. In fact, she was just the cutest thing to ever crawl from between her mother's thighs.I knew her whole family and hated most of them. I remember beating her brother, Grant's ass several times during high school. Her other brother Brooks, considered himself to be too smart to get into fights. I think he was just smart enough to know that he was smaller than Grant and would probably get his ass whipped too.Looking at Jane that morning though made me wonder why I'd never paid her much attention growing up. Maybe it's because eighteen year olds don't really look at ten year olds unless there's something wrong with them. And twenty year olds don't really have the time or the patience for twelve year olds. And by the time I was.
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