She was sunlight and cinnamon; all wide eyes, auburn hair, fair complexion freckles and fleeting laughter. She was an enigma to her friends, a golden girl to her parentsβ¦
Dappled sunlight turned her into fragments of an autumn impressionist panting; all her reds, golds and peach tones wildly blazing, vividly flaming in a sunset's haze.
She could make people laugh with a dry turn of phrase. She could silence a room just by walking in through the door. She could silence cruel words with a withering look.
She was going to be somebody; the world was going to know her name, the future was forever - until he caught her, used her, left her under autumn leaves in a ditch by the roadside;
and he became somebody and she became the face of the girl killed by him. Hollywood made a thriller about him and his crime; and her mother made an album of photos of her; and the local paper published her brief obituary.