It is another one of those soggy spring days where nature can't make up its mind whether to be warm or cold so the moisture just sits in the air. The mist diffuses the colors of the newly greened trees so you can't tell where one ends and another begins. You feel almost weighted down on a day like this. Like some pressure is pushing on you, enveloping you in a malaise, slowing you down. And through all this, a young girl swims. Almost, but not quite a woman. Full, pouty lips and long, dark hair. Oblivious that this, indeed, is a good day to die.