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Okay, I wrote this story when I was in 6th grade, accidently deleted it, got pissed, and re-wrote this. First chapter, continue reading smile

The wind blew hard, but the little girl didn't pay any attention to that. She simply brushed a strand of hair back and bent down to pick a flat, smooth pebble. Not even blinking, she aimed it at a broken doll placed on a high branch of an old oak tree. The doll fell back and hit the ground with a thump.

The little girl wiped some dust away from her eyes and ran up to the doll. Its red yarn-hair was tangled and messy, covering the dolls left and only eye, which was a button. The right eye had fallen off some years ago, and no one had bothered to sew another button onto it. Its hand-made dress was wrinkled and ripped, not even covering its missing right leg. Mud and dirt was smeared all over the doll's left leg, and a tear was visible on her blue shoe.

The little girl cradled the doll in her arms and sat, leaning on the trunk of the tree. She softly hummed a lullaby while gingerly smoothing the doll's dress. The wind eventually died down after awhile, and by now, the doll had collected some crumpled leaves in her hair. Picking the pieces out one by one, the girl smiled at the doll lovingly.

A man, however, ignored the little girl and her stupid doll. He pressed his Bluetooth against his ear and closed his eyes, leaning on the little girl's front gate. Fortunately, the girl didn't notice him at all, her back always turned on him.

He let out a sigh and said, "I am outside her house right now." He paused, waiting for a reply. "Yes, I won't let my last failure catch up to me." Opening his eyes slowly, he then said, "I understand." Click. He had hung up on his boss, and for sure he wouldn't like that. Oh well. The boss was going to have to deal.

"Now," he muttered. Not wanting to make a squeak by opening the gate, he jumped over it. "To see an old friend of mine."

The little girl was too busy picking leaves out of the doll's hair to notice the man making way to her backyard, then opening the screen door and stepping into the house. He briskly climbed up the stairs, but then slowed himself and coolly finished the climb up.

Not even caring if he was seen or heard anymore, he pushed a wooden door open and just stood.

A lady somewhere in her early thirties crinkled her eyebrows in confusion when she heard her door open. Leaving her balcony and shutting the doors closed, she then turned around and widened her eyes. "Oh! I didn't expect you here! Well, the house is awfully messy if you'd excuse that. Well, what brings you here?"

Her voice was rough and throaty, as if she hasn't talked in quite awhile. Bags were seen under her eyes, which was now a dull yellow, rather than the beautiful gold it used to be. She swept her messy and overgrown brown bangs to the sides. She was a mess, and almost instantly, the man felt guilt.

He mentally shook it off since he's look stupid if he actually did it physically. He blinked and she smiled softly, although there was a slight meaning of bitter hatred and accusion behind it. He saw it clearly. Even so, there was something about her. Even with that messy and tired look, she was still beautiful somehow.

No, he was letting his feelings get in the way. It was now, or never. Pulling out a small silver dagger from his long, black coat, he clutched it and gave the woman a sadden look. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. And he meant it. He meant what he said. He regretted what he was going to do.

Not even giving the lady a chance to register what was happening, the man quickly threw it and it pierced through her heart. Bulls-eye, unfortunately.

Before closing her eyes, she whispered, "Meggie. Meggie . . . she must do what is right."

The last thing she heard was the man whispering, "I'm so sorry," again before walking out.

So ummm, yea . . . comment on the story I guess? Why I named the girl Meggie, I don't know.