She sits on a bench in all the wrong fashion. Bum on the back and feet on the seat. Elbows on knees as she looks out on the vastness of a cold winter night. Her eyes focused on the far away lights of the city as she brings a cigarette to chapped lips.

A habit obtained after her sister left.

She leans her head back, exhales, and her smoke joins the night sky. She freezes. Paralyzed by the brightness of dying stars.

She grits her teeth, tightening her hands into fist. The scabs from punching too many walls opened from this gesture. But she doesn't care. Instead she rummages through her jacket pocket, holding out a photo of two teenage girls. A year apart, both familiar in face and yet not the same. She tucks a strand of her wild, crimson, curly hair behind her ear.

She sighs. She curses.

"Why the fuck did you have to die?"