It’s nine in the evening, on a rain-soaked September night, and the only place open is a small off-license on the corner of Bedford Street. The rain makes the lights misty and the light shimmers off of the grey, muddy pavement, as the cars lie abandoned to the weather on the cold streets.
The girl is strangely happy as she walks towards the only open building, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. Her jeans are rapidly becoming soaked, her small umbrella incapable of keeping her entirely dry, although her itchy, hastily grabbed sweater keeps her nicely warm.
She’s free, and independent, and her choice to return home is of her own making, not that of anyone else. When she walks these deserted streets, she is no one’s friend, or daughter or sister, nothing and no-one but who she is and who she chooses to be. It’s a wonderful feeling, amplified by the smoky, woodsy smell of autumn and the cool breeze that calms her spirit.
Out here, there is nothing but the girl, the rain and the silence of the night.
Freedom.
About Me
- zotlot
- I'm a writer, as you've probably guessed, and a history geek, which you maybe didn't. I love the Labyrinth and Doctor Who, and hate n00b speak and dried fruit. There, I believe that just about covers it.