They saw her Jeep Wrangler slow to a stop. They saw her hop out, stretch her long lithe body in the blazing hot sun.
“How quaint,” they heard her say as she surveyed their small, picturesque town.
They saw her stroll over to the gas station, pull on the locked front door. They saw her walk to the side of the building and fill her overpriced water bottle from the rusty faucet.
Then…
They heard her bloodcurdling scream for help.
They saw her take her last breath, close her eyes for good.
But she never saw them.
Not even once.
The Weekday One Hundred 