She almost floated across the empty, box-like room. A cold shiver relentlessly weaved its way down Emma’s spine as she ran her bony hand down the bleak wall. The fireplace glared at her – its mouth opened
wide.
The familiar surroundings struck her as if forcing themselves against her weak body –engulfing her. A soft breeze seething its way into the room from the uneven cracks underneath the door meant that
the desolate room of openness had become filled with the sigh of the wind.
It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be heard. The young girl slowly ebbed towards the corner of the room. Something had caught her eye – perhaps a sense of relief from the horrible imaginings that had been taking place the night before.
She shook the disturbing thought from her head, turned to the mirror and gazed into the blankness. The reflection of an old withered plant squatting in the midst became apparent.
The faint hint of colour brought a sense of
calm about the room. However as she peered even closer, its branches and leaves had become warped – twisted with fear. It was as if this dying plant was desperately reaching out to her. A silent plea.
Emma made her way towards the back door. Each second seemed to last a lifetime. Shadows crawled
over her half-closed eyelids and a small tremor shook her body. She thought about her mother, holding bravely onto her own sense of pride.
Emma looked down at the floor, at her old nightgown. Memories literally flooded her; memories of when she was a little girl and how she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories of her drunken father - coming in the house late at night, only to hit her mother and make her cry; memories of the countless men who abused her - emotionally, physically, in every way imaginable; and a wave of
realisation washed over her. "Nothing I have nothing".
In one hand was her terrible and tormenting life and in the other was a gun.A few seconds later Emma was gone.
