As Amalia walked down the stone road, holding a lit cigarette between her long pointy nails with her dark raven hair pulled out of her face, she felt alone. The road was dark and wide; the only light was from her small round lit cigarette. The light from the cigarette became dimmer and dimmer. There was no one to be found. The street echoed with the sound of her high heels, walking slowly down the stone street. Amalia was wearing a light blue dress and a large white pearl necklace. Her high heels had light blue and yellow flowers on them. She walked as if she had nowhere to go, no place to be as if she were all alone in the world. Suddenly, she looked anxious, turning her head from side to side to see if she was being followed. Her cigarette went out, and she quickly reached into her pocket for another. The glow from this cigarette seemed brighter and more powerful as if this one would never go out. 

The sound of her footsteps became heavy as she started to walk faster and faster. The noise from her shoes sounded as if a horse was presently walking beside her. Out of nowhere, Amalia sees a flashing light in the distance. A powerful male voice yelled, “Stop!” it was impossible to see him. She quickly put out her cigarette and started to run. The voice cried out again, “Stop, stop, stop!” 

Refusing to stop, she ran into a nearby old looking abandoned building; the building had newspapers and boards all along the windows. She ran up old, creakily wooden steps in the building, leading to three doors at the top of the stairs. She went into the one door that was slightly open. The inside of the room was sparse, with a ripped computer chair sitting in the middle, and in the corner, there was a dusty desk. 



The window was broken, allowing the wind in, blowing the ripped, dirty white curtain. The woman looked around the room, imagining what it was used for. She wondered, who used this room and when was the last time this room was used?  She slowly walked to the door and shut it tight.  She placed her ear on the wall next to the door and heard nothing.  Slowly and quietly, she walked across the room and sat down underneath the broken window. Outside she heard someone pacing.  She looked at her wrist to see the time, but her watch was gone. Not long, just a few hours later, the footsteps disappeared. She slowly got up on her knees to look out the window; there was no light to be seen out in the wide street. She slowly sat back down, with a newly lit cigarette in hand, waiting.