There was a sting in her side, her feet were protesting, and the rain was making it hard to see where she was going, but she was running. Quite fast. In fact, we might as well go as far as to say that she was running as if she was running for her life. If that was the case, then her chances would not be bad at all, because Harmony was a very good runner. She enjoyed running, most of the time, as long as it didn't go on for too long, or was slow enough to be called jogging. She hated jogging with a passion. Harmony did a lot of things with passion. Or, more precisely - enthusiastically. On fact, one should say that's the most adequate word for her you'll find in the dictionary.
Back to the running, then. She wasn't running for her life. She was following a tune. A little tune known well by all the children in the neighbourhood. Namely, the one played by the local ice cream truck. The driver of this truck knew Harmony, too, and he, indeed, feared for his life when he saw this multi-coloured girl sprinting towards his vehicle. He simply couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about that girl that he found exclusively terrifying. On these occasions he would hurriedly finish up with whatever customers he had at the moment, and drive away as fast as he could, Harmony close behind. He often lay awake at night, wondering why no one had thought of making the damn truck go faster. Surely, someone must have thought at least some situation where it would be useful to have a fast ice cream truck. Or a truck so fast, it could race keep up with other cars on the highway. Now, wouldn't that be a great investment for the company? The driver sure thought it would. Damn that girl.
