She walks through the torrential rain. No coat on. Her clothes dripping wet. Her steps masked by the slamming on rain drops hitting the tin roofing of the houses on either side of her. The sky began to darken from a charcoal grey to pitch black as she made her way down the cobbled street home. The walk always seemed longer to her when it rained. No one walked with her. Not home. Not to school. Not anywhere. She had no one and no one wanted her. It left her with the heaviest feeling of emptiness. Why did she have no one? Her mother was in a mental hospital. Almost killed herself in attempt to save her only daughter from what she thought was murderers chasing the two through her house. She was only hallucinating from the many drugs in her system. "Psyco Samantha". That's what the kids used to call her mother around school. They all knew she was at the extreme end of drug addiction but no one stopped to think how Cassandra felt. Yes. The girl in the rain did have a name and it was as beautiful as the face it was given to. She had golden brown lose curls that framed her flawless pale complexion. Flawless except for the freckles and the occasional childhood scar. She had full dark eyebrows and bright blue eyes that sparkled every time she spoke. So, why didn't they like her? Because she was different. With a childhood like hers, you couldn't blame her. Drug addict for a mother. Abusive drunk for a father. But he was only around for 5years of her life and all he gave her were scars, cuts, bruises, shattered dreams and a broken heart. The rest of her family didn't care either. Didn't care that a tiny, innocent young child was being beaten by the person who was supposed to protect her most while her mother played some sadistic game of doctors where she'd give herself "medication" as she called it. Cassandra tried a few times to hide what she thought was a prescription drug only to have her mother turn full beast on her until she brought back her heroin. Every day was the same. Wake up. Eat whatever was in the cuoboards. Packing her bag. Going to school. Putting up with crass remarks and terrible insults. Going home. Making dinner. Going to sleep. Of course, in between all of the daily things is when she would write and hide under her desk in case her mother had a hallucination and hurt Cassandra. Writing was her only escape. She wrote about anything and everything possible. She wrote poems about how the night sky blackened and the stars twinkled brighter like perfectly polished pearls on a blanket of charcoal. She wrote about daily life, as if she was writing a diary. She wrote short storys, long storys, real life situation storys, happy storys, sad storys and everything in between. Her favourite thing to write was fictional. Fictional helped her escape the clutches of reality and into the wide imagination of her own fantasy. She wrote from the point of view of a girl with golden brown hair with freckles and blue eyes. She wrote as though she was putting herself into the story.
"... And he walked up to me. Held me by my waist and looked me deep in the eyes. His dark brown eyes looking straight into my soul, unlocking every secret I ever held close to me. "I love you," he said to me. "you're all I've ever loved." He leant down and pressed his lips to mine. A thousand heartbeats were skipped, butterflies fluttered and my whole body turned to jelly as my love for him spread all around my body through my veins..."
That was one of the most common things she wrote. Her 'happily ever after' as she called it. The one thing that made her ultimately happy. Her fantasy. Her dream. Her hearts true desire. It was the only place she ever had someone. Someone to love her unconditionally. Someone to care for her when she was feeling down. Someone to hold her through the dark and scary nights when sleep was not an option. But this someone only existed in her mind. As much as she wished upon shooting stars, no one answered her prayer.
The next day, Cassandra walked into her Science class. She was year eleven and this topic was on Genetics. Something she already understood the previous year at her old school so it was simple for her. She walked along the edge of the room, as close to the walls as humanly possible just to try and avoid any contact with her classmates. It was too late. By the time she was halfway along the back wall, so close to her seat at the far left hand back corner of the room, the boys on the schools rugby team started whispering. They began to chant "Psyco Samantha, Crazy Cassandra" again and again. It wasn't long before people around them started whispering the same thing until everyone in the class had caught on. "Psyco Samantha, Crazy Cassandra. Psyco Samantha, Crazy Cassandra..." over and over and over. The walls seemed to be closing in on her. The air becoming thin. Her body becoming tense. Was she going to faint? *SLAM* The door opens to reveal the bald headed teacher in a green vest, white shirt and tan dress pants. He pushed his glasses up his nose which seemed to slip back down as he said, "I am Mr. Miginski. I will be your substitute teacher for this period. If you make my life hell, I shall do the same but in your own spare time." It was obvious that he had a fake facade going on. Although he sounded tough and menacing, he began to quiver and shake as he stuttered out what the class would be doing today. About ten minutes into the period, the class was already shouting across the class to their friends on the other side, throwing things and walking around the room. The teacher had officially given up. The first substitute to let them do their own thing in under ten minutes. Cassandra sat at the back of the class, writing, when one of the popular girls walked up and snatched the book from her hands. Cassandra tried to grab it off her but the girl stood on a desk while her friend held Cassandra back.
YOU ARE READING
The girl in the rainGeneral Fiction
She walks through the torrential rain. No coat on. Her clothes dripping wet. Her steps masked by the slamming on rain drops hitting the tip roofing of the houses on either side of her. The sky began to darken from a charcoal grey to pitch black as s...