[WP] There was one good thing about the rain; it washed away the blood.

One:

There was one good thing about the rain; it washed away the blood.

It was an awful reminder of that day, when Wren stumbled off of the curb at the bus stop, just as the bus was arriving. She’d been trying to show off some cheerleading routine she was planning to wow the JV cheerleading team with, so she could become a cheerleader. She’d been talking about how she was planning to become the cheerleading captain by the end of next year, and hoping to put that on her academic record so that she could get into a good college. Exactly just how that would work, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t in the same crowd of people she was hoping to be a part of.

And now she never would be, either.

Two:

There was one good thing about the rain; it washed away the blood.

It was an awful reminder of that day, when Wren had gotten into an argument with Jasmine; why her mother named her that, I can only guess; I think it was because she thought her daughter would be a beautiful dusky girl of quiet poise. Jasmine was anything but beautiful, and quiet was definitely not a part of her vocabulary. Everyone knew that Jasmine was headed for trouble; her mother seemed to turn a blind eye to her antics, letting her throw temper tantrums all the time; the entire fourth grade class quietly disliked how she seemed to flaunt her birthday gifts and Christmas presents. Wren was the first of us who stood around at the bus stop who had gotten an iPad, and when Jasmine had begun to taunt one of the other kids about how they probably hadn’t gotten anything for Christmas, Wren had whipped that bad boy out of her backpack to show it off to her. Things went downhill very quickly after that, from Wren showing off to a horrifically surprised Jasmine, to a furious little girl who decided that she’d take that ‘offensive’ device from her tormentor—and my how the tables had turned there—and the final moment, when Wren had her back to the street, with Jasmine pulling on the iPad. I remember seeing Jasmine’s face, from the side, from profile, as she snarled at Wren; she picked up her foot, and kicked out at Wren, as she deliberately let go of the iPad. “I don’t want it, anyway,” she shouted, as Wren fell backwards into the street ... where her head slammed into the ground, and she didn’t move anymore.

Three:

There was one good thing about the rain; it washed away the blood.

It was an awful reminder of that day, when Wren stumbled down the street, her shirt nearly torn open, her jacket half hanging off of one shoulder; her face was scuffed and bruised, and she had what I learned much later in life was a ‘haunted’ look on her face. Of course, the pretty large gun in her hand was pretty memorable, too, the weapon swinging gently in her white-knuckle grip. The other kids at the bus stop scattered and ran when they saw her coming with the gun, screaming and yelling; I don’t know why I didn’t run; maybe I was just too surprised, or too scared. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” she muttered, though I don’t know if she really meant to talk to me, or if she was simply talking to herself. “That’s the last time he ever rapes me,” she added, and that statement drew my eyes down to her legs, only partially covered by the school-uniform skirt she was wearing, as if I were going to see rivulets of blood trailing down them as evidence. The only blood I saw, as it suddenly seemed to appear to me, came from the cuts and scraps along one arm, and from the hand closed around the gun still in her hand, a few drops splattering to the pavement below.