[centre][img]http://i1062.photobucket.com/albums/t486/isthistaken1/Melissa-Wu.png[/img][/centre]

Melissa's trainers were a drab, faded red; worn-looking, her sock could be seen through the hole in their right toe. She stared at them with the most peculiar intent. However, her short, fleeting glances towards the papers she had clenched in her first betrayed her actual attentions. Her thoughts occupied, absolutely, the events of that morning; paranoid regrets continuing to form. It was an uncharacteristic impulse that had led her to heed to the letters directions. It had scared her: if her contact could track her down then it would be a matter of time before the authorities discovered her. 

[color=lightgreen][i]'... Stay where you are now, and die ...'[/i][/color]

She had awoken to him, peering in at her. It was obvious from the onset that there was something fucked-up occurring; his smart appearance struck a sharp contrast with the surrounding area; the squalid, unilluminated street that even her fellow-homeless avoided. He begun with her full name: that's when she should have puddle'd. But she didn't: she took the letter and she read it: and now she was here; sitting in the airport's first-class terminal, the subject of looks ranging from curious to perturbed to almost-belligerent.

None were undeserved. Her clothing was a-shambles: frayed blue jeans, a stained denim jacket, and a ragged black top beneath. Grime covered her person and she smelled like a sewer. Even her earlier attendant had passed a scowl through her professionalism. It came as no further surprise that no-one chose to seat near her: she sat alone; isolated from her fellow passengers. It wasn't an experience she was unfamiliar with: fourteen months on the street - she still counted - had numbed her to similar treatment; worse treatment. 

A message leading with her flight number was announced. It was boarding.

The girl's thumb began to gently massage the edge of her ticket. She passed a brief, nervous glance outside first: the plane taxi'd up the runway, and then towards the corridor she had arrived from. If she started walking she could be outside the airport inside ten minutes. The temptation had been gnawing on her since check-in. But she posed a firm resistance. There was no life to return to: nothing but misplaced notions of comfort to entice her back. Or so she would remind herself.

With anxious determination, she stood up.

[color=lightgreen][i]' ... I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I ...'[/i][/color]