Hallelujah.
The village.
That was it, I found myself running, running away from the storm or running to save my mother I’m not sure, but either way, I get the feeling that it’s safer inside than out.
I leap over the iron gate, scraping my leg on a odd sticking out piece of metal. I can feel the iron rust sprinkle into my wound, making the pain even more unbearable but it doesn‘t matter, I’m past caring. I’m quickly welcomed by a wave of mud which coats my legs, knees down, like a second skin. This doesn’t stop me, no. My heart is exploding out of my chest, the beat pulsing through my body. I had never been great at running but right now, I think if my gym teacher saw me try this hard, she would have been amazed. A strange feeling of relief radiates inside me when I come in sight of our small, quaint village. My shoes thud on the cobbled pathway but yet, the noise does not succeed in drowning out the rain. Which is now gushing down like a waterfall, my hands feel cold as ice, as the fine water dribbles down each finger. I am embarrassed as I rush past the church, today was the first time in sixteen years that I have missed a service. Not once, never before. God would be angry with me, disappointed in such a child. I feel his eyes burning into my back, his voice booming down from the sky as a strike of lightening cracks down from the heavens. I can see my house, one of many Victorian terraces that snaked through the village.
Ours is the only one to not have a brightly coloured door.
Our door is black.
I leap over the iron gate, scraping my leg on a odd sticking out piece of metal. I can feel the iron rust sprinkle into my wound, making the pain even more unbearable but it doesn‘t matter, I’m past caring. I’m quickly welcomed by a wave of mud which coats my legs, knees down, like a second skin. This doesn’t stop me, no. My heart is exploding out of my chest, the beat pulsing through my body. I had never been great at running but right now, I think if my gym teacher saw me try this hard, she would have been amazed. A strange feeling of relief radiates inside me when I come in sight of our small, quaint village. My shoes thud on the cobbled pathway but yet, the noise does not succeed in drowning out the rain. Which is now gushing down like a waterfall, my hands feel cold as ice, as the fine water dribbles down each finger. I am embarrassed as I rush past the church, today was the first time in sixteen years that I have missed a service. Not once, never before. God would be angry with me, disappointed in such a child. I feel his eyes burning into my back, his voice booming down from the sky as a strike of lightening cracks down from the heavens. I can see my house, one of many Victorian terraces that snaked through the village.
Ours is the only one to not have a brightly coloured door.
Our door is black.
♠ ♠ ♠
Carry on.