I can't wait for my next writing challenge on Daily Picspiration which will be in a fortnight. xxx
Here's my story Under The Bridge
‘I don’t ever wanna
feel like I did that day’. . . . . The
song played over and over in her head as she wandered through the night;
barefoot in the cool, soft grass but it might as well have been shards of glass
for all the comfort it brought. He promised to never sing that song, or at
least the last verse, which was understandably hard for a tribute band, but she
had her reasons and what’s more, he knew. He knew what happened under that
bridge two years ago. He knew the loss she had suffered. He knew the deep
meaning behind the lyrics and how they took her back to the degradation,
isolation and loss fuelled by failure and guilt.
“Babe, it’s just a
song. It’s been two years. Can’t you see it as therapy?” He placed a sweaty
hand on her bare shoulder which she instantly swatted away like an annoying fly
as her eyes splintered with tears.
Therapy! She trudged forward in an effort to release her
fury with every stomp. Therapy! What did he think she’d been doing every Monday
night, without fail for the past year and a half? It wasn’t some jolly tea
party! Baring her soul to what were once complete strangers was not her idea of
a fun night out! Now, she couldn’t live without them; they were her new
addiction. The ones who really knew her suffering, her guilt she carried around
with her like a loaded shot gun. And there he was, unleashing the torment.
“It’s the best song! The audience love it! I can’t ignore the fans
babe!” He tried again with the hand, this time pushing away a random strand of
her dark hair that always fell awkwardly over her face; she used to like him
tucking it behind her ear but again, she swiped his hand away. “You have to
move on Babe, with me. I need to move forward.” And that was the moment she
knew it was over. She wasn’t ready to move forward. She knew he was protesting
she stay; saw the strain on his tired face but all she heard was that song,
every word causing her heart to tie itself up in a tight knot . . . ‘Under the
bridge down town’. . . creating an image in her mind like she was back there. .
. . seeing the blood . . . . the
convulsions . . . . the eyes rolling
back . . . the chest stopping. . .
The rising sun began to reveal little by little, her
whereabouts. Ribbons of morning red provided a backdrop to a forest that was
beginning to come to life and then she noticed the gentle sound of running
water. She’d walked all night, didn’t have a clue where she was but knew it
made her feel peaceful. Knew she had been led here.
A bridge lay up ahead. It wasn’t pretty and certainly didn’t
fit the surroundings with its chunky concrete blocks for walls and ugly pipes
on show. But then neither did she. She
didn’t fit in anywhere. She had tried and had failed. She peered over the edge.
A sheer drop to the river below faced her. A way out. That was why she was
here. She had been given a way out. It was more than coincidence. Fate had
brought her here. The song had brought her here, to a bridge. Like her sister,
two years ago, it would all end, under a bridge. Prettier surroundings than an
inner city bridge where gangs loitered and junkies shot up their next or last
fix. . . . unlike her sister . . . . her poor innocent younger sister . . . .who
should not have followed her there . . .
“I’ll give you yours
Megan, if you can do something for me,” teased Jazz as he toyed with her fix
with one hand, unzipping his trousers with the other. Kneeling down in the wet,
under the bridge where to anyone else the stench of urine would make you vomit
violently, she took a deep breath.
“Megan!” She knew that
voice! Why was Eliza here? Why had she come? Grabbing Megan’s arm, Eliza yanked
her up. “You have to stop this Meg’s! Please! I don’t want to find my sister in
the gutter with a needle sticking out of her arm.”
“Hey lady! This is
between me and her!” Jazz shoved Eliza but Eliza stood her ground, even when
Jazz pulled a knife, even when he threatened to finish them both. . . . . .
Megan took a deep
breath as she stood on the edge of the bridge, unable to shift that night out
of her mind but she knew she had to relive it before she. . . . .
. . . . .There was a
gurgled scream as Eliza’s grip broke, clutching her throat in
an instant as she slid to the floor, her hands now a rich red, dripping like
paint from a brush, her eyes wide with shock.
A bloodied hand reached out. . . . grasping Megan’s punctured , bruised arm.
. . . before reaching up to wipe away
tears that escaped from Megan’s sunken eyes. . . . Megan watched as her
sister’s life seeped in a sea of red surrounding them both, as the tiniest of
smiles appeared on Eliza’s lips. . . .
Megan looked up to the clear blue sky, to Eliza, knowing
Eliza had been watching over her, knowing Eliza was at peace and knowing she
would very soon find her own peace.
A rumbling echoed through the valley. Without hesitation,
Megan stepped onto the track, feeling the vibrations of the oncoming train
swell through her entire body. Closing her eyes, Megan stood firm, welcoming
the train with open arms. Screeching consumed the valley followed by a sudden
silence. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the looming train, not more than
five feet away where the driver sat on the step, wiping his brow, unable to speak.
“Sorry,” was all Megan could utter as she walked past him
then stopped. Looking up at the side of the engine her mouth dried up at the big
red swirly writing, “Eliza?” she barely whispered.
“All engines . . . . . have names . . . . . love,” he panted. “You’re lucky to still be .
. . . . here.” Megan smiled and carried on walking, over the bridge, not once
looking down under the bridge, knowing Eliza would always be near.
1104
No comments:
Post a Comment