The clock struck thirteen. Time lost all continuity.

Icy; secluded; looming shadows leaned against the wall. They did not move. Now and then however, they would slither through the small opening of a wooden door, warm and comforting within. There would be a distant bark or a muffled sound of contented pleasure, where solitude was replaced with a doting guardian. A bed, a fire, a rug. Safe, genial, pleasant lives.

On the outside, thick smudges of water battered against the rooftops like a hail of bullets, almost as tyrannical as the relentless drumming of nails. The sickening heat was oppressive. Thrown over this forsaken town was a blanket of fog, threatening its victims with instant blindness. Drops of vapour poured off the rooftop, crawling away from the grey curtain of water that smashed into the sticky, steamy streams.

Red- shimmering red, crawled down my fingers, forming separate paths that twisted and curled, as it stretched out to reach the ground. The blood; crawling onto the surface of the road, dribbled in multiple directions, leaving secret codes to the creatures that fly high at night. The pain in my limbs tightened, as though I had been running. Why had my instincts summoned me here? I stood at the far end of an abandoned cobbled street, the dimly lit lanterns flickering on and off. I had been walking around for hours now, yet nobody had called. Strangers; thin and woven passed me without acknowledging my existence. Their scabby coats did not even rub against my shoulder, or if they did, I didn’t feel it. Crimson red trickled into a puddle beneath my feet, infecting the pure water, intoxicating its innocence. I starred into the puddle. Perplexed though my mind was, the blood evoked a memory of the rabbit that was attacked here last spring, of whom its murderer was never found. That, nobody knows.


Orange specks of light tore through the sky, splitting the feeble clouds apart, condensing them to a flaky substance, barely capable of containing themselves. They soon returned. Black clouds lingered advancing upon others to form heavy masses of depression, blocking out what little illumination there was. Puddles glistened from the fierce sun. The glaring light penetrated my vision, forcing my eyelids to close, blocking out the sun, but not the memories. Thick threads, resembling a heap of shredded carrots. A hazel eyed child, who grew old before her time. Aunt Agatha. The sunlight reminded me of her; of her spirit; the songs she used to sing- some old folks tale with a typically chanted chorus, detailing a typically noble man who saved his soul- oh heroic! Nevertheless, every word enlightened me because she sang them. An auntie corrupted by viruses. They soon pierced through her heart, destroying her mind.

My surroundings brought back memories of happier times.

Yellow buds with hidden obscurities had given in to despair. What was once a patch of radiant beauties, brilliant and luminous, had fallen victim to the passing darkness- clouds heavy with rain vapour. I empathised with them. A bright, promising life- now grey. I wondered what I had done to deserve this. This past week, I had felt invisible. My parents cried throughout the night, refusing to look at me; my friends had made me an outcast; I was ignored as though I did not belong here. I peeled off the eldest flower and dropped it into a puddle, forcing back the beauty it once retained. Days in the park, picnics, reading Moby Dick.

Green blankets weaved between country roads, containing strands of grass that were overgrown and tangled, drowning in puddles. A tear trickled down my cheek. Before I was overshadowed by solitude, my friends and I played on these fields all day long. Lost in time.

Go and pick the prettiest flowers- red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Collect them and give them to your grandmother, who is sick.

I always did as my mother had asked. I would however, fill my day with cartwheels and jam tarts, playing with the other children in my village, before walking to my grandmothers house. I closed my eyes, longing for those summers to return. The past few days had been a blur. My thoughts were dazed, forcing me to question the purpose of my life. Only a week ago, I was surrounded by good friends, yet a day later, it was as though the whole world had turned against me.

Blue benches overhead were rustic and chipped, but still possessed the substantial stability needed to comfortably seat an elderly gentleman or a pair of love struck fools. I silently glided over to one of the nearby benches, smiling at an acquaintance from school who was sat reading. The girl glanced in my direction, but her gaze peered through me, into the distance. I greeted her with small talk, yet she simply pursed her lips and trailed away, leaving an empty chocolate rapper in her place. I traced my fingers along the seat, making patterns with my thumb. Nevertheless, I could not feel the uneven chippings and splinters of wood. The lucid blue reflected into a puddle beneath my feet, which now obtained the vitality of thousands of wet, sparkling diamonds. Once again, I forced my mind to retreat the memory that was struggling forwards. A blue diamond.

This ring is to prove how much you mean to me. Even if we are apart, I will always think of you.

Under my breath, I cursed myself for believing him; this week he had not smiled and did not speak. Instead, he chose to direct his gaze into the distant horizons and hillside.

Indigo strands of hair became wet with tears that were slowly crawling down my cheeks, blurring my vision. Although it was impossible, it was almost as though my tears were forcing the intense indigo streaks in my hair to fade. I held my hands out and shock fluctuated through me. Pale- almost the same colour as the milk I was asked to buy on the day I disobeyed my mothers commands. I had walked right past the shop outlet, purposefully heading towards the hairdressers, in order to discard my brown curly locks for a more theatrical appearance. I had chosen indigo due to my short-lived obsession with Redemption in Indigo; a book I must have read three, almost four times. A loose strand of hair tangled itself round my finger. I flicked it into a puddle, transfixed by its sheer radiance. Now the fascinating indigo had smeared into a depressed, misty grey.

Violet lighting pounded across the sky; striking like a predator, piercing through vulnerable clouds and reducing them to nothing. Electric and ludicrous. I flinched as though it might swipe down on me at any moment. The changing weather reflected my changing emotions; my changing state. Perturbed and unsettled, I walked back to wear my thoughts started- the cobbled street. I watched the animals crawling into peoples homes, as though they were a gift from God; a new friend; a companion. My spine curled as I shivered, thinking of the revolting creatures that these town folk called pets. set side by side, they were nothing in comparison to my beauty, my Ariel. she was a rare horse, envied by most; she maintained astonishing pride throughout the most difficult of times. The solid vibration of thunder emphasised the lighting, which not only struck a tree, but a memory. My violet wellies. Some many years ago, when one was not accustomed to dressing themselves, my mother would ensemble me into those wellies, before leading me out onto the fields to ride Ariel. We would trot for miles in various directions, exploring the countryside. The world at our feet.

The sound of the lightings indignation and resentment clashed with the heavy sprays of water. The rain was bigger now, hammering down with a new found purpose. My vision was blurry. I felt myself stumbling. Stumbling. Still stumbling. Nonetheless, I was powerless to steady myself. I must have stood there, defenceless, for half an hour. The burning light summoned me to reality, slowly revealing the outline of a vehicle. My limbs still felt weak, unable to move. The vehicle did not swerve or slow down as it approached. Instead it got faster and faster, until my scorching instinct ordered me to serge left, as I realized the driver had not even seen me. I remained still, listening to the pounding heart that one feels when they are in inscrutable danger. No sound. No thump. Nothing but the deafening silence. A rainbow appeared. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet. All reflected into a puddle. I was weary. Absent. The wind howled, freezing my solid soul. My instinct told me: look. I peered into the puddle. Sickening horror impaled my lungs; my throat was unable to inhale oxygen. Nothing peered back.