A Girl with No Name

Part 1

She lay flat on the dust-ridden road, unmoving. unblinking. unthinking. It was all she could focus on for now; the cries she heard. She didn't even know what she was doing, and yet she felt like it'd been years that she'd been listening to his cries.

"Just wait for death," she thought as she felt the throb in her heart slowly fade away, replaced by an emptiness that was just so much more painful. She'd embrace it when it came.

Time slowed down, voices, noises around her stopped completely. She stared up at the sky, though she couldn't really see it, the morning sky, mostly cloud, deep steel blue-greys that mirror the hues of the highway. Everything is a muted shade, like a matt photograph in a dimly lit room, everything except the tail lights that flow into the heart of the city. They shine like the first berries on winter holly: unabashedly brilliant, scarlet, hypnotic. Her eyes start to glaze over, like they normally do, her eyes. Not like chocolate, or honey, or chestnuts. They were more than chocolate, honey, and chestnuts. They were the rocks against the shore that destroyed ships. They were the trees bark that had protected it for hundreds of years. They were the ancient dirt beneath your feet. They could melt you with their facade of chocolate, but then they would crush you with their under-layer of earth and soil. Yes, her eyes were brown. And they were anything but boring, they were torture.

This road had a wideness that she loved, It was open and she loved to imagine the cracked sidewalk and the way the cats stalk about, the owners of all they survey. She didn't care what the weather was, she'd carry an umbrella and her sweater was warm. Her eyes eat up the green leaves above and the air is like a soft kiss from the earth. Oh, yes and the houses line the street, each one a sleepy kingdom, each one somebody's sanctuary. No matter the state of the paintwork or the pride taken in the front yard, they were perfect to her. In that moment, the only moment that counted, It puts her at ease, lets her soul rest a little easier, because she's not perfect either – and she doesn't have to be.