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She wore a plaid skirt

The soft yellow of the street lights burned into the night. A deep fog blanketed the lonely streets of town, and the only sound was the echo of her steps, sharp and clear as she shuffled along the ice-covered sidewalk.

An eerie gentleness permeated the night, a tranquility, a sense of being the only entity in the universe. She pulled her scarf tighter around her already chilled face, and hurried on, careful not to slip.

Not a car was in sight, and her thoughts went back to her own vehicle, locked up back at the restaurant, the keys inside. Her hope had been to find a ride, someone at the cafe who had cared enough not to leave her alone on a cold December night. But no one had.

As the minutes ticked by, she walked on. Perhaps the night wasn't such an evil time of day. So she thought, until a thick powerful arm, a smothering feeling, and the sleeve of a jacket wrapped around her face, pulling her back, causing her to slip. She fell, lost consciousness, and all was blackness and despair.

In the morning all they found was a bloody plaid skirt.

-- 12.4.92

Notes: Other students in my English class wrote entries on this topic that were far more optimistic and cheerful than my own vision. Particulars from the town (now ``city'') of Meridian served as inspiration for me, though such incriminating details are absent from the text itself. I was bothered slightly upon return to this text due to a narratological glitch: on the one hand the ``story'' is related by way of the sensations and thoughts of the female character; on the other hand, how can this be related to us when she meets such an untimely end?