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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Self Help · #1153847
It is about a hysterical woman finding some form of structure in herself to move on.
She walked slowly, staring coldly at the floor, not wanting to look forward for fear she might see something she wouldn't want in her path. The sidewalk was empty, and her beautiful auburn colored coat swings in back of her as her steps pick up a quick pace. Her stelletos could barely keep up with her, but she isn't afraid to leave them behind if they couldn't keep up. She just wanted to escape this nightmare. Her pace started turning into her running as fast as she could, the stelletos found a new home in the middle of the sidewalk and her silky polka-dotted skirt flared behind her. Her tears were being blown to her ears and her thickly used mascara along with it. Her breath was losing control and her legs were aching and starting to bruise. The longer she ran the more she thought the street was building itself longer for her, as if it never wants her to find paradise. All she could hope for is that at the end of the long, forgotten tunnel, there was someone out there who could help her.

She looked behind her, and saw all the lights that once before brightened the streets were being turned off one by one. All the houses who once looked warm and friendly turned into old, forgotten haunted houses filled with ghouls and evil spirits. She looked straight ahead again and found the street had grown five miles longer. Her face flushed, her long, ironed straightened (now frizzy), long brown hair was over her face. She placed both hands on her face and collapsed on to the floor, crying for what felt like to her for hours. Sobbing and smashing her already bloody knuckles on to the already cracked sidewalk, she looked over to the side and saw a tiny red colored rose petal.

She crawled over to it, slowly, slowly. Steady, slowly. Slowly, steady. She crawled over a pile of shards from a broken bottle and it cut deeply into her soft, buttery colored, delicate flesh. A few actually implanted and made themselves at home in this young woman of merely 27 years old. She didn't feel it, she can't feel anything. She lost her soul and her ambition to life for the one thing she's always wanted. She always wanted someone to be there to caress her every need, to cradle her in times like these. She always wanted someone who would do whatever it took to make her feel like royalty. But all she got was a note saying :

"See you when both our hearts are turned to dust."

She didn't understand the cold, harsh words written by her former love. She just understood she is all alone, and there isn't any turning back. She rather go through this painful night all over again than to see his 'damned' face. His cold, gray colored eyes that the only one which would own such a pair of eyes are of those written in books. She looked at the rose petal, carefully, she picked it up. The soft, fuzzy textured softened her already nearly destroyed heart. She grabbed the petal and dried the last and final tear with it. She unfolded the letter and placed the soft rose petal onto the middle of the paper and fold it back up into the way he originally left the paper folded. She got up and swung her hair to the side. Limping, she slowly reached a bench and sat on it, humming an old song for which her mother taught her. As she felt better, she got on and started limping over back where she came from, only that she is going to the west, instead.

It was time to move on.
© Copyright 2006 Francisca Caridad (monologue at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1153847-Will-Power