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My World

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My World Trapped in a world of my own, with no way of getting out. My mind is empty but I still hear the screams of Emily, my baby, in the background. It's dark now, though it isn't late. My flat is high up though I can still make out the trees below which are lit up by the street lights. I feel alone but not afraid. I wander across the room and take Emily into my arms. I am not alone but I still feel lonely. I haven't come out of the flat since I returned. I can't use the lifts because they have been vandalised and I can't face trying to get up and down twenty flights of stairs with Emily and all my shopping. I don't think I will ever be able to get a job though because I had to leave school at sixteen, because of Emily. ...read more.


I snapped back to reality as Emily started screaming again. Emily always wakes up at this time; I am almost getting into the routine of when she wakes up. She was particularly upset tonight though so I had to walk her up and down the corridor. I don't mind being awake at this time anymore, it means I sleep most of the day which is good as I have nothing better to do. I just make myself a cup of tea and then go back to bed. I hardly ever sleep in the night though; I just lie on my bed thinking about everything. I work out in my bed what I have to do the next day. It never changes though - I still have the same old routine everyday, the days go pretty quickly now, I used to think they went slowly. Before I realise it another day is gone, another wasted. ...read more.


Inside, pleasantly dry, though I still feel the rain as it speckles the window to which I now have my forehead pressed. Silvery droplets tap against the glass. The wind is blowing and the glass leaves a cold shiver down my spine as I look down to the dump. It stays there, nearly still, barely moving as the dark murky clouds pass by with the wind. Leaves rustle and plummet from trees, swiftly to the ground. The old park where the children should be playing is deserted and the rusty swings move silently in the breeze. The photograph that is my window is only grey, white and black, completely colourless. The image shadows my feelings which I have bottled up for so long. This reflection finally gets to me as a tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe my face though I can't feel anything. I touch my lips; they are dry and bitter. I draw the curtains and wander across the nearly empty room. I lie silently on my bed and hope it will be better in the morning. ?? ?? ?? ?? Lucy Montagu L5S ...read more.

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