It was a warm spring day in a town who's name is unimportant, at least for the moment. It was a Sunday afternoon and the local church that centered the town was having a "jump rope for Jesus" fundraiser. The church, white with a big bell tower, shone in the blazing sun. Mothers in lawn dresses secretly boasted as they shared cake recipes and scorned their children about getting grass stains on their Sunday best.

She stood a bit off to the side, leaning against a white picket fence. The pleasant commotion that surrounded her bore her no interest. Her current worry was trying to master the one lock of hair that refused to be in unison with the others. Her hair, a color deemed strawberry blonde, was something she never took to mind. Until this very moment due to the extreme boredom that was often common in this region. But only she seemed to notice it.