A girl, who couldn’t be much older than me. Was frozen in a shuffling movement. Her clothes were riddled with holes. The dye of the clothes were so worn out, that I wasn’t entirely sure what the color used to be. Her hair was in a bun, stringy and dirty. There were bruises that lined her arms, some on her neck. Many old, slowly healing, but many were new. She was looking to the ground, as if completely fixated on a certain spot of the ground. 