Things That Are Bad For One's Cognitive State

Trigonometry does horrible things to a person's mental state. Well, that, and not being able to scream for fear of killing someone on accident. Which is why, as you would conceive, looking up and seeing some girl's gun pointed at my forehead from scribbling my Maths homework just might cause some neural panic. And of course, you might wonder why I can't scream and possibly kill the strange woman before I get shot. I'm not sure if it'll kill me, too. It's not like I actually know why I caused my father's murderer to fall down and simply die ten years ago. For all I know, he could have had some sort of brain tumor or something. But I'm not going to take a chance.

Usually, when one stands in front of you and points a gun to your face, she wants to say something. Because if she wanted to kill you straight away, she would have done it some other way. Sniped you, or something. Poisoned you. Stabbed you in the back. So I stared right back at the woman and tried to hide my fear. "Er, hi." I felt like I should at least say something. "Do I know you?"

The woman, who really looked quite young to be going around killing people, to be honest, narrowed her eyes and unlocked the safety on the pistol. "You killed my colleague."

"Did I really?" How old was she when I killed that good-for-nothing son of a b*tch who murdered my father? She couldn't look over twenty. I shrugged. "He killed my father."
She smiled coldly, and I felt like this was the moment in the movies when she would ask you for your last words and then create a nice bullet-sized hole in your forehead. "And now, I will kill you."

"Well, isn't that nice?" I grinned brightly, before flipping the table I was working at upwards, shielding myself from the bullet and knocking the gun from her hands. The back of my mind registered that I lived on the second floor, and would most likely survive the drop.

So, as I run for the window and break it with the meat tenderizer on the kitchen counter I was working next to, I'll take a moment to introduce myself.

My name is Kate Marre. Not Caitlyn Marre. God knows what kind of name that is. I am a native London-er, and have been all my life. And yes, it has occurred to me that whoever was looking to kill my father is probably after me too. Which, you know, is why I changed my last name from Ferridge to my mother's middle name, Marre.

No, I have never encountered a gun before. No, I have never jumped out of a window before. What do you think? I'm sixteen years old, a little too aggressive, and has all but one similarly crazy friend. You might think otherwise, but excelling in English and History, having won competitions in video gaming , and being the top of your kickboxing class doesn't mean you gain instant friends (or get to have the pleasure of owning a gun or jump out the window). Did you know? The word 'fenestration' describes the act throw someone out the window.

Falling out the window is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Sort of like riding a roller coaster without restraints. Or a seat. Or anything, really, except the weird wooshy feeling, and you feel like your stomach has leapt into your throat. I land on my feet, but it doesn't work all too well, because in the next millisecond, I find myself on the floor. My legs are wobbly when I stand up, but I have to keep going. I charge out of the alleyway and onto the street, hoping nobody saw me. As I race to the first place I can think of, I realize that in my right hand I am still holding the meat tenderizer.

(Hope it will suffice, since she is the 'loner' and is completely clueless. Where should she go?)