A mystifying silhouette stands hunched over
At the end of Jones Avenue
The curious “invincible” teens strut closer and closer.
One by one their faces turn from crooked smiles and giggles
To blank stares and frightened facades
They see a lifeless little child
Her worn out shabby dress shredded across the chest
Covered in dirt dripping with blood
The fragile limbs, broken and twisted covered with the earth
Her neck decorated with cruel bruises
Her abused face crowded by tiny broken nose, pale lips, and silvery expressionless eyes
She stares at the arrogant teenagers who stand their agape as they look at her hand
A small black dagger lies loosely between her grubby fingers
The girls’ mouth curves from nothingness into a smirk
The kids begin to run
The girl begins to chant

“Adam McConnel broke my heart

He took my life away

Now, I’m back to Say that

I’m Virgina Jones and

I hope you didn’t want to stay”
Off in the distance, sudden shrieks and screams are heard
No one ever heard from the stupid hurtful fools again