He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. He had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm, and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his opponent escape. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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