Rain beads

Chapter 1.

As the cold air ripped my skin of any remaining hot molecules my morning shower had attached to my face, I thought of my daily routine. How comforting was the idea that every day was planned out ahead for me? Oh comforting, it was. My mind didn't seem to agree anymore. This little inside voice was begging me to rip off that routine from my schedule. The little voice wanted nothing more to do with repetitive days and endless hours of public transports. My morning routine was deciding on every single one of my life opportunities, and things had to take a turn.

One evening, while the air was laced with cold and the streets covered in white, a reckless thought popped into my head. My hands decided to grab my guitar and take me to the nearest park. I picked a spot, sat down, and started moving my fingers along the strings. My surrounding atmosphere smelled of fresh snow on the trees, children's laugh, and worried mothers. The minute I started playing, all of the parasite sounds went away. I couldn't hear anything but the noise of my own voice. My mind went crazy with words, lyrics, and different thoughts. My insides were pushing me to continue; to keep on spreading my heart felt thoughts to the audience that was standing in front of me. 
And while I was lost in my thoughts, I could feel my lungs filling up with great ambitions, and great spirits. Everything I had missed was right here, in the notes that my guitar created.

A few minutes after I'd started playing, a group of guys neared my location. I saw their sombre sweatshirts sway back and forth with the movement of their backs. Slowly, their faces came up to mine, and while half were covered by the lack of light, what I figured was the head of the group came up and spit out a couple of words to my face:

"- Stop playing you punk. 
-Excuse me," said I, dissimulating my intimidation
"-You don't get to play here. This is our park. Leave now. 
- Not until I'm done, sorry. 
- Really? You're gonna fight us on this? We're a bunch of lads and you're just a girl. 
- Doesn't matter what I am. I'm staying and that's that. 
- Okay then." 

Before I could open my mouth to get some air, some of the guys at the back grabbed my guitar with both hands and smashed it on the ground. The bits and pieces of wood spread away from the main body of the instrument, while some kept together held by a weak metal string. The dim light reflected into it, as my eyes alarmed my mind of what was going on.
With every limb of my soul, I stood up from the bench and defied the group's master with my eyes. Anger was coming out of my mouth and ears, I couldn't think clearly. There was no way I was getting out of this. 
As I stood up, a quick glance back informed me that muscles and flesh surrounded me, and the idea of an escape flew away with the last breath I took. 
The last breath I took. The last breath I took before a strong fist found its home in my stomach. The last breath I took before my face could touch the fresh snow, which was covering the ground. And slowly, the snow that I'd found so beautiful in its purity was covered in red stains of blood. I couldn't breath anymore. All I heard were the choking sounds of lungs in despair for air, and the weak cries of a hunched back suffering from the kicks and victory sounds coming out of my aggressors' mouths. All I could to was endure the pain. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't cry for help. There was only a few broken bones, a cracking back, and a mix of tears and blood spilling over an overall beautiful amount of white snow.