Approximately an hour later Martina could be found, jostled and jumbled on a rickety bus, keeping her hood pressed close to her face, and her face to the window glass, determinedly avoiding the eye contact of the few around her. As she rode she remained shrouded in shadow, lost in thought. She imagined her family’s discovery of her disappearance; Lara’s awful grief, Jack’s terrible anger.
Subtly extracting a bottle from the bottom of her back she took a swig of vodka, a slight smile slipping into place as the alcohol bubbled and burned in her throat before settling in her stomach. Gradually the smile, given that Martina rarely drank, became slightly silly and fixed, as every sensible and distressing thought sidled out of her head, sip by sip.
Finally with a third of the bottle gone she curled up on the seat like a cat before the fire, although she was warmed from the inside out, rather than the outside in. With the scenes around her spinning as though on a merry-go-round (a concept, that in her drunken stupor she found incredibly funny) she finally fell headlong into sleep, the bottle slipping from her fingers, and rolling to the floor.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
*sets up camp* i'd ask for more but you just posted 7 minutes ago ;]
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
Half an hour passed with Martina deep in slumber, her face twitching as she slid back into her past in her dreams. Finally the bus driver reached the end of his route and disgruntled at the thought of having to rouse and evict a sleeping drunk from his vehicle he left his seat with a sigh. Once he laid eyes upon the sleeping form however he felt his heart soften. Martina’s closed eyes were underscored with heavy black circles, and even in sleep she crossed her arms close, protective, over her body. Leaning carefully in the bus driver attempted to rouse her, first with his voice, then with a light tap on the shoulder.
At his touch Marina’s eyes flew open, sparkling with surprise. With a yelp of fear as she stood one foot in dreams one in the world she tumbled off her seat, scrambled for her bag and bottle of vodka and pelted off the bus at high speed. Running and running as though the hounds of hell were snapping at her feet she continued until she had put a good mile between her and the man, who in the shadows of the bus had seemed to her, for a moment, to melt and morph into her step father. Finally she let her body collapse against a nearby wall and sank to her knees, breathing hard and fast.
Glancing carefully around her once, twice, three times to check all was clear, she set about searching the alley way for something to protect her against the elements for the night, eventually settling upon a large cardboard box, which to Marina’s tired eyes could have been a five star hotel. Extracting a jumper from her bag she draped it over herself, mindful to keep her legs free, ready to run at the slightest provocation.
With one last beady eyed inspection of her surroundings she again let her eyelids begin to droop, and with a sigh, sank again into slumber, bag clutched close to her side.
Last edited by Buttons. : 18-08-2010 at 11:59 AM.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
“Never lose faith in yourself,
and never lose hope;
remember, even when this world throws its worst and then turns its back,
there is still always hope.”
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
The sun rose slowly, spreading itself lazily across the sky. It’s rosy fingers reached out to stroke the tired cheek of Martina Legree, causing her to stir sleepily, slowly stretching stiff limbs. Forcing her eyes open she surveyed her surroundings, her sleep addled brain momentarily disorientated. A sharp sound behind her brought her back to reality with a bump. Whipping round she saw a man staring curiously at her, standing over a bin lid which had fallen from his hand in his surprise.
Dragging herself to her feet with all the dignity she could muster, Martina walked away, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she went. Melting into the crowds on the busy city street beyond the alley she allowed herself to be carried along like salmon in a stream, until she reached an unfamiliar shopping centre. Moving inside she fought her way through the throngs of bustling shoppers, searching out the nearest toilets. 7
Quickly Martina slid into the dimly lit room, slamming the door shut behind her with a sigh of relief. Reaching the sinks she gazed at her hollow eyed reflection as she wiped grime from her cheeks and smoothed her hair, running her fingers through each golden strand, holding it a minute then letting it fall back to her shoulders in strong, curling waves.
Finally satisfied with her bedraggled appearance she hurried from the shopping centre, searching out some small newsagents or similar where she could buy a cheap bar of chocolate for sustenance. Happening upon just such a place she paid for her chocolate hurriedly, ducking her head and avoiding conversing with the friendly newsagent.
Ripping open the wrapper outside she dove on the chocolate as though she hadn’t eaten in months, having burnt up the fuel already inside her body with adrenalin and fear. The chocolate gone in a matter of minutes Martina sat with a thump on a nearby wall. What on earth should she do now? How on earth did you even begin to build a new life when your old one had been ripped apart at the seams?
Fighting back tears Martina scrabbled in her bag, searching manically for a certain item. Finding the jumper she had secreted from her mother’s wardrobe she held it to her face, and finally, finally Martina allowed herself to cry.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
