TBPA summer edition gold medalist 2016.
Alistair Flynn is a walking anxiety attack/accident waiting to happen.
Ridden by nightmares and peer pressure of being the jock of the block, his life takes a confusing turn when a hazel-eyed boy invites him...
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I walk.
Rain is drizzling from the steel sky, cold with humidity. Sun doesn't touch my skin, doesn't warm up my body and neither does the atmosphere.
But I keep on walking.
I pass walls of boulders, plants growing in banisters, leading me up a rickety, rocky footpath. I pass a plant similar to millions of others I saw before this, making me feel as if I'm just walking into circles.
I want to stop, yet my legs follow their own mind and just walk.
I can't control the poltergeist taking me to the horizon. The rocks and boulders in my way can't stop my body. The grass absorbing the shock of my march doesn't even hinder me.
The closer I get to the horizon, the more I realize that the earth is sliced down to the core. Cold droplets fall onto my skin, hitting my skin like tiny, freezing bullets. The clouds roll and the sky perishes, extracting all happiness this life could bear.
I try to stop, but nothing comes of it. My muscles has another brain, feeding it with mischief. Loki.
The edge creeps up on me like a cat pouncing a moving finger. An owner teasing the cat.
I try to protest one last time before the line separating me against the dark abyss leading straight down to the core, but alas, my attempts are futile.
Very futile.
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"Okay, so let me get this," Ciarah frowns, "I have English, history and biology with you," she points at me. "And art, math and geography with you?" Her finger flies into Ashlynn's direction, occupying herself with her flock of other friends.
"Bravo," Braxton claps his hands overly dramatic. "You are now officially a GPS."
His comment is directed at me. I open my locker, dropping my head on the top shelf as a rest place. I can't even find the strength to reply to him. Even my tongue is too tired to move.
