"I land on the steps of the train station, nowhere near being tired after running about twelve miles. The pain in my feet exhausts to a tiny ache, as my soul continues to slip away. I have to keep going. A train approaches at the station with a soft -pishh- as I wonder how I look at the moment, barefoot, fiery red curly hair, frizzy from the running, blue eyes losing focus, grip, becoming soulless, and wearing muddy, worn out jeans and a single t-shirt in the biting autumn, night air. I don't need a jacket, my arms are almost numb now and my rough Halfling survival supremacy is beginning to kick in at a higher pace. As I board the train with one water bottle in hand, and my backpack left on the bench; the scrawny, pale man at the door of the train says, "I think you left your backpack over there." He motions at the bag lying limply at the side of the metal green bench. "Oh, it's not mine." I lie, shrugging. It's an obvious fib, though I don't care anymore. The girl named Scarlet Red will no longer exist to be ridiculed for ridiculous lying."