She was at the bus stop after school watching the drivers panic as they came to the curve. The locals knew the turn. One day, someone would miss it; not catch the corner in time and hit a pedestrian. Her and the other girls from St Mary’s walk that path everyday for school.

A flat phone battery and a late bus. She looked around and noticed the flowers. Chrysanthemums, her favourite; a warning to motorists. Some cars slowed to observe the memorial. The arrangement would forever act as a grim reminder that someone died there.

Curiously, she wondered over. Was the lost soul the one who had not taken the corner with respect, or the unsuspecting victim leaving school on some Friday afternoon? The frame slipped from her grip. The uniformed girl from St Mary’s smiled at her from behind the cracked glass. Her uniform. Her smile.