Untitled
One.
The dark clouds merged into one colossal shape, droplets of water gushed from the sky as Melodie dashed under the shelter of a nearby shop. She opened her bag, fumbling through stacks of chewing gum wrappers and receipts and half empty tubes of lip gloss looking for her trusted umbrella, with no luck she let out a small sigh, wrapped her cardigan tighter around her tiny frame and hurried on through the busy streets muttering bitterly to herself,
“Why does it always rain on me?”
The rain was relentless, so she ducked into a row of undercover shops, glancing dejectedly at the window displays as she passed. The travel agents caught her eye as she gazed at coconut fringed beaches, a bunch of last minute deals flashed across a tv screen. Shaking the raindrops from her tangled and sodden hair, Melodie stepped inside and sat at a desk... (Apparently she wasn’t spontaneous, well she’d show everybody!)
“Book me on the next flight!” she cried.
Opening the door to her second floor flat fifteen minutes drive from the city, Mel hurried up the stairs and grabbed a hold-all from the top of her wardbrobe, brushing the cobwebs from the top she reached for the doors and stuffed as much as she could into it, retreating to the bathroom for the necessary toiletries to chuck into the already bulging bag. Her reflection in the mirror made her breath catch in her throat, stopping abruptly, she looked a woman possessed! Her hair stuck up in places, her makeup caked half way down her face, she was panting slightly, her clothes crinkled as if she had slept in them for a week.
Taking a few calming gulps of air she padded into her tiny kitchen ‘compact’, the estate agents had called it, she put the kettle on, checking her answer phone as she waited. Six new messages? Tears leaked from her eyes as she deleted them and abandoned the wait for the tea; she grabbed her bag and walked out of her flat, closing the door with a click, which had an air of finality about it.
The stench of BO was suffocating, Melodie found herself holding her breath and already starting to regret her sudden decision
“Next, please?” the woman at the talk called with a friendly tone, yet the smile plastered on her face clearly saying she’d rather be anywhere but here.
She handed over her passport and flight details, and then sidled over to x-rays.
In no time at all she was sat in a squishy leather armchair, a gossip magazine on the table and a cup of strong coffee in her hand. Murmuring a song to herself she realised a second too late she was singing Alanis Morrisette, Ironic. Hastily, she took a sip of the bitter tasting brew trying to put all thoughts of plane crashes out of her mind, and nearly spat it out again as it burnt her mouth and throat, her eyes began to water as her throat blistered. Leaning back in the chair she allowed her chocolate curls to cascade down her face, wondering if she really was just running away.
“Why does it always rain on me?”
The rain was relentless, so she ducked into a row of undercover shops, glancing dejectedly at the window displays as she passed. The travel agents caught her eye as she gazed at coconut fringed beaches, a bunch of last minute deals flashed across a tv screen. Shaking the raindrops from her tangled and sodden hair, Melodie stepped inside and sat at a desk... (Apparently she wasn’t spontaneous, well she’d show everybody!)
“Book me on the next flight!” she cried.
Opening the door to her second floor flat fifteen minutes drive from the city, Mel hurried up the stairs and grabbed a hold-all from the top of her wardbrobe, brushing the cobwebs from the top she reached for the doors and stuffed as much as she could into it, retreating to the bathroom for the necessary toiletries to chuck into the already bulging bag. Her reflection in the mirror made her breath catch in her throat, stopping abruptly, she looked a woman possessed! Her hair stuck up in places, her makeup caked half way down her face, she was panting slightly, her clothes crinkled as if she had slept in them for a week.
Taking a few calming gulps of air she padded into her tiny kitchen ‘compact’, the estate agents had called it, she put the kettle on, checking her answer phone as she waited. Six new messages? Tears leaked from her eyes as she deleted them and abandoned the wait for the tea; she grabbed her bag and walked out of her flat, closing the door with a click, which had an air of finality about it.
The stench of BO was suffocating, Melodie found herself holding her breath and already starting to regret her sudden decision
“Next, please?” the woman at the talk called with a friendly tone, yet the smile plastered on her face clearly saying she’d rather be anywhere but here.
She handed over her passport and flight details, and then sidled over to x-rays.
In no time at all she was sat in a squishy leather armchair, a gossip magazine on the table and a cup of strong coffee in her hand. Murmuring a song to herself she realised a second too late she was singing Alanis Morrisette, Ironic. Hastily, she took a sip of the bitter tasting brew trying to put all thoughts of plane crashes out of her mind, and nearly spat it out again as it burnt her mouth and throat, her eyes began to water as her throat blistered. Leaning back in the chair she allowed her chocolate curls to cascade down her face, wondering if she really was just running away.