There is the girl on my street, Block Street to be exact. She has really long brown hair, brown eyes, and had a crooked smile. I’m not judging her by her looks. Everyday at 4:27 p.m., exactly, she walks by our house, stands in the middle if the road, and starts mouthing things and crying. I don’t know if she has a disability or what. She seems okay when I walk past her on my daily walk. That is until she starts to cry. I try to talk to her, But she blankly ignores me. She just keeps on mouthing things as tears stream down her face. I feel really bad for her. Everyday its a new story that shes trying to say. When I try to talk to her, she cries a little less, then a river flows when I leave again. I see her smile a little when I speak. Maybe its because she likes my “southern accent”. One time she screamed a little while mouthing her story. It wasn’t a murder scream, a soft scream, like she was yelling for help. I tried to help when she screamed. She just cried even harder. The day after that, she had a bruise on her left for arm. She was limping the tiniest bit when she was walking too. I asked her, “What is wrong? I want to help you. Let me help you.” She stopped mouthing when I said ‘let me help you.’ She began to whisper that time. But all she was whispering was “I see him everyday through my window waiting for me. Then he comes for me.” over and over again. She cries a little more with each phrase. I looked over to her front lawn, I saw her dad watering their garden. She noticed me looking for “him” then whispered “He sees you. He is going to come for you too for talking to me.” Then she sobbed. Not just cried, SOBBED. “Run, please. For me. It would be helping me. Don’t you want to help me?” So I did. I ran as fast as I could. She turned to look at me run then started running too. I ran to the nearest stop sign, which was only about 2 blocks away, then went back to my house. I never saw her again after that day. Her dad still waters their garden everyday, but now with a smirk when he sees me.