She sat with her feet upon the wall. He looked at her, "You seem nervous." She stayed silent. He took out his camera and took a picture. "You know, you look like Dorothy, with those on." She sighed, "When's the last time you've seen the Wizard of Oz?" He looked down. She's never been the same since her parents died. Her father was a firefighter, but he didn't die of a fire. Neither did her mother. They died of a car. A car with one passenger. One intoxicated passenger. He went up to her and whispered, "I know it hurts." She quickly jumped up, "No you don't! You have no idea how much pain I'm in." Her shout still echoing across the walls frightened him a little bit. He looked down, "I'm sorry." She looked down at the camera he held, and quietly whispered "Any good ones lately?" He looked up at her, one tear slid down her cheek. She whispered "Do they miss me?" He looked directly into her green eyes and told her the truth. "They always will." She nodded. "I'm going to make them proud." He chuckled quietly, trying to hold back tears, "You already do. Every time you look into a mirror, and see your brunette curls across your face. They are looking back. They always did look over you, and they still do. That will never stop."