Rivers; 1

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<word count: 2290>

{Warning: themes of depression, mention of suicidal thoughts. Read at own risk - I wish for it to not be a trigger for any of you lovely people.}

        Pɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴀᴡs ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ the night wind raked through my hair and clutched clumps of it, ragging me to the side of the pavement and driving me in the direction of the depths of the woods. The elements held me hostage, exposing the bitter cold, unleashing violent downpours of rain and throwing me into merciless, howling gales. 

Trees creaked and swayed, branches clashing and clanking against one another. A shudder crept down the length of my spine, spreading goosebumps across exposed flesh. The light shining from the torch on my mobile phone dimmed, the woods cast in shadows thrown onto the land, lanky and crooked and jagged like a witches bad back or curved, ugly nose.

[Battery power 5%, charge your phone.]

“I hate you,” I snapped, alone save for the yowls of the wind. Drained of its battery life, the torch sucking out the energy at an alarmingly rapid pace, the phone shut off. Stranded in the pitch black, I clenched my teeth and carried on. “I fucking hate the weather. Just piss off already, stupid bastard. Stupid bloody phone!” 

In a fit of bad humour, I swung my backpack off my shoulder and chucked in the useless piece of shitty tech. Half filled with rocks - or anything heavy I found on my way - I was sure it would break having thrown it in with a bit of force behind me. In the bag, I did have a few pairs of knickers and sweet wrappers and an empty bottle of Pepsi Max, thinking my running away would lead me somewhere reasonable. I didn’t know what to expect, but I drew the line and involuntarily crossed it and now it was weighed down with stones.

As the trees shook with the force of the wind, I couldn’t help but wonder if one would bend a little too far, and topple over. I fell into wondering about whether it would hurt or not if it collapsed onto me. Would it be an instant kill? Hit me over the head and crush my skull? Would I reach out and take the hand of the grim reaper, for them to pull me out, lead to into what the afterlife holds for me?

Carrying on walking, I kept my gaze fixed on what path I could see, wishing to return to a home I no longer had. In the beginning I expected my parents worried sick, to be out and searching for their unstable daughter, wanting to see her home safe. Left devastated, I was in choked desolation, knowing they didn’t care; no fucker cared. There’s no one searching for me, no phone calls being made, no missing person posters. Gone for three days - and, as I dreaded from the onset of stepping foot out of the toxicity of my parents’ household - they wouldn’t be coming out to find the mess they didn't mean to make in the first place and clean her up.

Quicker than I predicted, my money ran out, swallowed up by the unfair expenses of food and drink. I was left with nothing, no charge on my phone and no clothes and not a single thing to sustain my finger and quench my unbearable thirst. 

Growing rougher and stronger by the minute, the wind began to form into rapid beasts, pinning me to the railings lining the edge of the road. I gripped the crumbly, low brick wall to steady myself before powering up the small hill to reach the peak of the bridge. 

I paused at the top, holding onto the wall. 

There was nothing left for me. In the end, it was really only sleep, eat, work, come home, eat, sleep, work, eat sleep work, eat sleep work eat sleep work eat work sleep sleep wokr eat eaeatsleepworkeatsleepworktsleepworkeatsleeworkeasleprk.

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