Woken

You may recognise this piece. It was re-worked and submitted for a local magazine but alas not up to the standard this time around. Enjoy.....

Woken

I wondered what she was doing there, walking the street alone.

I had stirred from my sleep and looked out the window, unsure at first what the white shiny object was, moving in my grey morning. My lazy eyes and lazy brain on waking were unsure of the world. It was 5am, and the light was dull as if the colour spectrum has been sucked from the air.
I had pulled the blanket up to my face, cloaking my presence. Why had I done that?

Her long black hair glistened as if mist had fallen ever so lightly, but there was no darkening of the road to suggest any moisture. The plain white dress hung loosely over her frame, bony shoulders showing through thin straps.

It was like a slow reckoning.

Coolness fell on my skin, a strange sensation under blankets with the warmth of the night’s sleep cocooning me. Similar to when you are surprised by a spider and in that horrible second you suck in your breath quick and hard. My skin was taut. I was ready to run but horribly cold with shock.
Michael who lived next door always left at this time. I bit the inside of my lip straining to hear the familiar latch of his door. The acrid taste of blood hit my tongue. I hoped all my neighbours remained in their homes. The morning seemed menacing somehow.

Morning birds that greeted the day were silent, all except a crow sitting on our street sign staring at the girl with long black hair as she moved along the centre of the road following the white line. It cawed a single cry and then fled the scene. It seemed to struggle to beat wings through the air, dropping slightly then with a mad flurry managing to turn and disappear to a dot in the sky.

My shoulders began to ache with the effort of remaining rigid. I was not sure how long I could remain still.

She moved with purpose taking small steps on dirty bare feet, walking away from my home where I hid. She stopped and I had seen her face in partial profile as she turned her head slightly toward the window of no 12. I could make out a dark eye, unblinking before she turned a blank gaze back to the road.

Then she turned the corner and out of my sight.

The blood began to return through to the smallest of veins, finding the way through a path that had been frozen and locked, as if everything for a moment while I watched her walk was dead.