t i r e d

o n e

The wind whips through her hair and she doesn't make a sound. She's the type of girl who is hurting, but tries as hard as she can not to show it. Through the dark she keeps fighting. She is strong, but is growing weak.

"Smith, where are you going," Mort hollered down the street at her.

"Somewhere without pain... because I'm tired," Smith responded without turning around.

Smith kept walking, but Mort stopped. He was confused. His feelings toward Smith were lost in his brain. She was the girl who stayed in the shadows. He was the boy who loved the light.

Mort watched Smith disappear around the corner. She faded into the darkness and left her worries behind. He stayed behind; he was her worries.