How did the world become something so destructive? A walk down the street reveals blood stains on brick walls of a little girls home whose father was convicted but not removed. And screams ring in the air, night after night, like an alarm clock to wake up the ghosts of the children whose bruises sent them to death. A little girl couldn't like super heroes because they could hear a lost kitten's faint meow but chose to ignore her shrieks. Each day, for her, was a battle where she risked another beating and showed her scars each day in school, but nobody noticed. Nobody could see the way that the bruises up her arms matched the bruises on her heart or how the corners of her mouth couldn't bend up like the fists she faced each night. So she would swallow he tremors and hide in the closet as she waited for a creak in the floor. "Daddy's back, Daddy's back, Daddy's back." She could feel the devil in her heels. Tragedy upon tragedy upon her already fractured life assure her of her own demise, but another factor pulls that back, innocence. Her dark thoughts are altered by her lost innocence; they are turned from black to red. This new scarlet mindset somewhat eased her fears, but she mistook it for blood and died in the corner of her closet behind the jacket her dad had given her before he turned his guns on her.