Spencer's P.O.V. -
Wind briskly sweeps her hair this way and that in the cold winter climate. She walks down the cold, unforgiving cement, walking into the heartless café. She opened the door from the cold to the warmth, the heat prickling her cheeks. She remembers. She recalls what happened. She retrieves the dreadful memories from the very deepest and darkest areas of her mind. Remembering the day, she wheeled around on her heels and burst out the door. Making a dash, once again, down the cold, unforgiving cement. She runs free like a horse in her field making way toward the break of water, trying to forget the very day.
