Breaking Point

Panic

The sky was growing dark and Vera was beginning to panic. What was she supposed to do when the hordes of people left and she was alone in the street, basically a sitting duck for Charlie? No wonder he hadn't followed her: he knew that she would still be there when he got around to it. She let out a cry of frustration which was lost in the revelry of the celebration.

She'd yet to meet anyone who spoke English, and she knew no other language. Vera suspected that all of these people were speaking some sort of French, and she cursed herself for not taking the class. Why did she choose Latin? So what if doctors supposedly needed it; it was beginning to look like she would never get to be a doctor.

Move, you have to move, Vera told herself. She began pushing through the crowds once more, but this time going out instead of in. When people were no longer pressing in on all sides, Vera broke into a run, the wind on her face taking away some of the nauseous feelings that had surrounded her for hours. Soon, stones turned to gravel which then turned to grass and she was running in a meadow, the sky turning from purple to a deep blue above her.

Vera stopped and looked up. She was free. She finally felt free. A hysterical laugh broke through her lips and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She walked through the grassy meadow for as long as she could, until she came to a cliff. It was rocky and craggy and white foam sprayed up from the waves crashing against it. Vera backed away, her head dizzy from the vertigo, and made up her mind to steer clear of the cliff. She'd never been a fan of heights.

Vera laid down in the middle of the grass, the longer strands tickling her nose, and finally allowed herself to sleep.