The steady thrum of cicadas filled the slanted evening air.

The heat wave of noon had given way to a gust of wind from the north, bringing forth an arctic chill underneath long, sleek clouds.
Leaves rustled like distant rain behind the noise of the insects' songs, the trees that lined the streets spreading their limbs in a wide, creaking stretch, cooling the concrete to a point of bearable comfort.
Shadows fell long across the ground, crawling up the walls of old brick buildings, their doors having fallen, mortar crumbling, and windows boarded.
The tangle of vines and weeds that grew thick through this part of town flared their leaves in response to the setting sun, catching what little light they could.

A child, donning blue-and-white plaid poncho and a patchy green beret, made her way down the empty street, arms and legs swinging high in a jaunty walk.
Hooked to the loop of a belt, which bore a ridiculously oversized buckle in the shape of an overturned H, there hung a plastic pistol, drops of water leaking from its bright orange nozzle.

From under shadows fallen of short, hanging brow hair, bright blue eyes pierced through the evening light as it slid across the street.
One hand dropped, fingers curling loosely around the belt near the toy gun, thumb flicking at the chain which kept the weapon from falling.

A new challenger approaches.