The sweet spring air is indistinguishable, masked by a fowl act of unjustness. The gaggle of lanky youths kick and spit upon the small lass curled in a puddle upon a well traveled road. Her bright auburn hair disappears under a splattering of brown mud while tattered scraps of her maytime dress clench in the fists of her assailants. To most who pass by, this is just a rambunctious childhood squabble shrouded by innocent banter. But to her this injustice will live on forever. On that day she lost. But those who fall are not yet defeated, for as the years pass she remembers every moment of that fateful day. Every day she recalls the vile words and aggressive blows smashing her childhood innocence to pieces, and every day she is fueled for retribution. But her mind is not forlorn, for she knows that revenge will be hers. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day far from now, when maturity has taken them, and those men have long since forgotten about that inconsequential spring morning, vengeance will be taken.