Tristane, at the ripe age of 16, was barely alive. Her body was about to fall apart. She endured a heavy day at school and she couldn't wait to get home. The horrid event played back in her head as she walked alone, staring down at her feet as they shuffled her forward.
He was standing near his table of friends, being surrounded by warm smiles and hardy laughs. And she was standing near her favorite tree alone, playing with her black laced, layered skirt and glancing up and down at them from time to time. She was fidgity, her body shaked badly at the thought of her intention. When she glanced up, he noticed her, and gave her a slight smile. Her heart raced and she quickly looked across to her dark green messenger bag hanging next to her on a steardy branch. She turned and stared at her bag intently, and grabbed it off of it's resting place and placed it across her shoulder. From the back pocket, she