“‘Oooh look at her, doesn’t she look rough’”
If I had it my way, I’d be in a warm, soft and luxurious bed. But instead, I’m here, pacing the streets, solemn and silent.
I can’t even begin to imagine, where I’m heading next. Grasping the chain firmly in my left hand I gently remove it. The sweet smell of gold is revolting. As I clutch my pedant I’m slowly beginning to realise how far away that I am. I’m walking along a side road now, just approaching a turning. Do I take it?
Where do I go? Which road shall I take? It has to be one of them. I need guidance, no, no I don’t, I make my own decisions, and I can take control. One of these roads seems familiar, a street full of detached houses all lawns exactly the same not a strand of grass out of place, not a tree that dares whisper in the wind. It’s precise, just like you. The second is a mystery, just like me.
I still haven’t had any food; I’m beginning to feel ravenous. I have fifty five pence. I didn’t think of bringing any money. Mind you I didn’t really think that I would leave. I don’t remember much about earlier, the massive row. I just remember two words ‘dirty slut’. He was raging at me again, like it was strange to go out and party, a deadly sin to have fun. You spotted my pendant and asked why I was wearing such a grotty thing, It’s not like I expect you to understand, so don’t worry, I don’t blame you.
I’m at the end of my road now, adjoining to my road is a main road, I’m taking it, strutting down the centre like I own it. I’ve been doing that recently, holding my head up, I’m proud.
Today isn’t tomorrow and today certainly isn’t yesterday, while I lay here in my cardboard box, that I found late last night, I ponder this. Chips used to taste nice, from what I can remember, but not these ones. These are soggy and cold; I was lying next to them this morning when I woke up. They are in a newspaper that’s sopping wet, from the heavy downpour that also happened; late last night. It’s food though something that I’ve desired for what seems like an eternity.
My pendant is clasped tightly in my hand, I’m staring at it intensely, it’s been ten days so far, and why did I leave? It’s getting colder day by day. I’m trying to find somewhere to stay, somewhere that I can feel warm and secure, to revitalise my flickering spirit.
The rusting gold is more visible these days. As it gets older its age becomes more noticeable, more so than before. It’s in my open palm now stretched out, like it’s about to sprout wings and fly away.
Lately I’ve been different, dad why do you blame my friends? I suppose I’m just your little angel that will never spread her wings. Remember that night; I do, the ‘slut’ night. I wear make up short skirts and high heels, just like most people my age. Don’t you think about what I could have said to you? How arrogant you are or how oppressive that you can be. Why do you think that I didn’t? I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, like you did mine. The Mona Lisa, your favourite painting while you sit there at your computer father, chew on this, she’s smiling, is she happy? I think that I should be sitting in that portrait, don’t you?
The ripple of the pinky blue dusk that has set over the middle of London on an October night becomes more prominent as I stand staring over the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge. I grip the railings I laugh, a high pitched screech, I’m so cold, so famished, but I’ve never felt so alive. Cradling my pendant like a damaged child, I say my last goodbye. I’m attaching it to the fourth bar on the second row.
I look up to the beautiful night sky
I love you mum,
I love you dad,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
So much,
I’m going home.
