DEATHS POV:

I watched as the little girl was hit over and over again, with a thick rubber. I winced as she cried out. For no one could hear the child. No one but me. The evil that lurked over her, was silent in the day but vibrant in the moon light. Oh how I wished I could wrapped my arms around her, and pick her up, singing her a Lullaby till her soul rests in a soundless sleep. Tears fell from my eyes as she was left in the cold bitter wilderness, with nothing but her broken soul to fight with.

I watched over the years as this little girl was forced to mature so very fast. At the age 12 she was already murdering as if it were a hobby. The poor girl, her mind tricked into thinking what’s right. She didn’t deserve what was being sent her way.

At the age of 18 she had a little girl. Not by choice I might add. I walked with her every step of the way just in case she fell into my arms. Just in case she chose to join me. The blood from her hands was being washed into the drain to never be seen or heard of again. Never would she realize the true darkness she was working with. Her mind brain washed. For she wasn’t a killer. Don’t misunderstand. She had a warm, soft, bright soul that was hiding deep within. But she knew not to show it. Her pain out wade her mind. Her sorrow out wade her Conscience. For as I said before, she was only a broken soul. Not the killer people thought her to be.

HER POV:

My mouth was open panting loudly. I had been running for 45 minutes straight. Well, I had been running my whole life. That’s what I do. Run. Quickly I ducked under a bush and next to a tall barren tree. I heard yelling in the distance and waited until they past. I let if a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as I turned on my heal and was on the move, again. You see, I don’t live your ordinary Teen, New Yorkers life. I was a killer, you might say. The heal of my combat boots clicked as I made my way through the deep ghetto ally, when the clicking finally came to a halt. I sighed then opened the creaky, rustic door. Hoping in the shower, I washed the crimson blood off my hands and face.Making my way over to the air mattress that lay across the floor, I started at the little girl. Her chest rose and fell, the pattern of breath. Her body sprawled out with the blanket really not doing much, her blond hair flying all over the place. I sighed, bent down, stroked her hair, then sat up and when over to my bed. A couple more weeks. Just a couple more weeks.