Our Monsters Within

INTRO

-This isnt the first chapter, just an intro so you can further understand how Kaya thinks.

"We stopped checking for monsters under the bed, once we realized they where inside us."

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So I sat. Feet dangling over the ledge, and the world in my view. I could see all of Central London around; and below me, hundreds and hundreds of feet below me, there was concrete.

Grey and hard, with cracks and chizzles giving it a worn down look. It was sad really. Everyone uses it and needs concrete pathways, but nobody appreciates them, or takes care of them, or notices how one little pot hole stripes away the usefulness of the street.

As I stared at the world beneath me, the night's sharp breeze blew shivers down my spine and made my knotted brown hair dance with the wind. The coldness made my body involuntarily shake. It's not the smartest thing to do when your sitting on the edge of a 20 story abandoned wear house.

But I like the rush. To know, that I have control over something. I could shatter my fragile body and allow the mocking world to go on turning without me.

All it takes is one wrong move, or one over-exaggerated shiver, and I'm gone. Spiraling down to the cool, hard Cement.

It's not all bad though, because we have a lot in common.

We are both dark and cold. We are used and worn-down, and invisible to the rest of the world. We have cracks and holes from careless strangers and from the ones we loved. Nobody seems to care about us until we are of no use anymore, and then they fix us just enough so we can go through the agonizing cycle all over again.

I like the cement. It gives off that unnatural hommie feeling. Something I can't fully comprehend or explain.

So here I am sitting, waiting to see if today is the day I finally am released from this hell , and allowed to slowly and gracefully tumble through the air, until I connect with home.

As the distant ringing off a chapel bell is herd, I come to the realization that today will not be that day. I guess The Lord has another day or torture and mockery in store.

I inhale the cold air and the toxic fumes of the London pollution, and remove myself from the ledge. Before going, I take in one last view of my city and its streets before descending back home.

Ah, home. I guess that's what I have to call it right? Or is the house of hell more appropriate?

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