There ain't no motive for this crime...

When I was younger I had a friend by the name of Jenny. I suppose by today's standards I'd call her a real fuckin' live-wire, but after all we were just kids. So let's just say she was an active girl, and didn't really have a care in the world.
I met her when I was about 5 I think, when her family moved into a place just down the street from my house. Being that we were both single children, we became good friends. "Chums" you could say.
Anyway, Jenny's favourite place to play in the summers was the middle of the street. I really don't know why, but I remember she'd always be on the street with her balls to bounce and that damn "skip-it" or whatever the hell those things were called.
I'd often play with her in the street, and since our little road wasn't travelled much by cars (in those days) there wasn't much danger in it.
But as we grew older and our town got bigger, our street wasn't such a safe place to play anymore. More cars came through our neighbourhood, but Jenny never seemed to notice them much.
One day, when we were about 8, a car was coming down the road pretty fast, so I pulled Jenny onto her lawn and told her to watch out because she might get hit.
Even though we were chums, she got pretty pissed off at me, since she was going for a record on her skip-it and I fucked it up for her.
So as the summers came and went, I still played with her once in awhile in the street. But every time a car came by too fast, I always made sure to stand on the grass (while Jenny nonchalantly went about what she was doing in the road). After all, everytime a car came down our street too fast, they'd always slam on the brakes or swerve to miss her.
Until one day a certain car didn't stop, and it didn't slow down. There was even some debate within our neighbours that the driver actually drove right at Jenny. I stood by on the grass and watched the car as it hit her, and it's something I'll never forget.
After that Jenny wasn't the same. She took about a year to recover from the accident, though the scars are still pretty visible to people with a keen eye for that kind of thing.
Jenny never played in our street again (or any other street for that matter) in all the time since that summer's day. But I'll always remember those days that she'd sit at her window and watch me playing on the road with my other friends.
And every time a car came by, we'd be sure to stand on the grass and wait for it to pass.