It wasn't my fault that everybody had turned their backs on me. It couldn't be. What had I done so drastically wrong that everybody in the world, even my Mother, had ignored me and moved away from me? Whenever I was in a mile of anybody, they moved. What had I done?
So alone I sat, in the cold, wet, grey streets, my legs swinging unthinkingly underneath the hard, wooden bench I sat bolt upright on. The only sound was my shallow, uneven breaths and the soft clicks of drops of cold water hitting the frosty cement. I took a breath and wrenched myself upright off the bench. I heart my feet protest in pain, for I had been walking for days. I walked drowsily into a supermarket. I grabbed a large rucsac from the special offers counter. Inside I threw several bottles of water, and a bottle of fizzy. I slid in about twelve granola bars, a few sandwiches, five packets of crisps, and about ten pieces of fruit. I needed the energy. I zipped the bag up, and slung it over my shoulder. I pulled on the sleeve of my thin, silver coat and eyed a fluffy, warm duffle coat hanging on the rails. It must be good, the price tag was a high £400. I ripped the small coat off, shoved the new one on, grabbed some earmuffs and yanked the bag onto my back again.
The brisk wind made sure that it stung my cheeks with extra force, as if it purposely wanted to make my sorrow deeper. I fought against the fierce tears that bubbled their way up my throat, my dark brown hair flying back in the sudden gust of wind. I blinked my long, thick eyelashes and readjusted my eyes, the streets were dirty and the wind had just blown it into my face. I was probably splattered in mud, but I didn't care.
I continued through the dull streets, sobbing soundlessly, the tears had won the war. They streamed silently down my face, the hot temperature of them soothing the soreness, until the wind whipped again. I shuddered and pulled my coat tighter around me.
A mirror in a shop as I passed it, vacant as always, told me some things about myself: My lips were harsh, crimson - a result of the freezing weather. The eyelids that closed my big, brown eyes frequently were rimmed in a livid red, the tears still rolling down my face. My short brown hair was sopping wet, the rain poured down, thunderclaps rending the air as lightening flashed in different forms: First filling the sky a bright, painful white for a split second, then a threatening fork flitting across the dark sky and switching again.
I wanted to scream in agony as the deep, terrifying pain surged through my purple, pulsing veins. My lips pressed into a hard, tight line, throbbing under my hold, to imprison the violent, bloodcurdling shriek. I kept my head down and watched the uneven grey bricks beneath my feet carefully to distract myself. The thunder made me jump and the lightning made me yelp. Apart from that and the rain on the floor, silence echoed the eerie, dark streets.