Skye Hawkes

In Broad Night-light

It was a cold, and dull night when Skye Hawkes stepped out from the shadows and into the blazing car headlights. The black cab swerved, barely less than a foot from where she stood, rooted to the pavement.
The car's brakes squealed through the evening air, followed by a brief silence before the car window was wound down. Skye ignored the yelling and cursing from the driver- I've learned from experience: if it isn't a question, incorrect statement or formal greeting, there is little need to reply.
"Out in the road like that- you trying to get yourself killed?"
Ah finally, a question.
"Just looking for ways to kill my ennui, sir,"
"You're mad!"
Skye opened her mouth to argue, but found herself too busy to reply- the car had shot off into the night and sent the contents of a large puddle towards her.
"Damn!" she cursed, after examining the sleeves of her old- but in good condition- granite grey coat; except now it had a generous amount of flecks of muddy water.
"Mad is an adjective," Skye muttered, glaring at her shoes, "Meaning mentally ill, or insane,"
Her hands were clenched into tight fists that shook by her sides, her brow twitched slightly, "I assure you... I am neither,"