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I strode along the pathway tall and proud, with my head held up high, I would not give the crowd the satisfaction seeing me cry with shame or, as they might think it, fear. I did this even as my insides where turning with shame and unhappiness, I couldn’t show my emotions, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t because I had promised my mother, that no matter what happened i would not show any emotion, except rudeness and haughtiness. She had said that even if my father through me from his household I was not to cry, to show any weakness, or the public would take advantage of me, she said things like this a lot, she was the only one that cared about me so I listened.
All of a sudden an emotion which was not familiar surged through me, it took a few seconds to realise what it was, it was it sadness. Sadness for what had been lost in mine and my fathers relationship, sadness for what was to come and sadness for what I was missing. But the reason that I had not known how to recognise it, was the fact that I had not felt sad since my sister had died, a feat that had almost been impossible to overcome.
While I had been dwelling over what had been, I hadn’t realised where my feet had taken me, they had taken me to the bridge, the old rickety bridge, the one that the girl had drowned off last year. I felt a sudden compelling urge to walk closer, I did. Soon I was within touching distance and the rough wood was under my fingertips, the splinters cutting into my palm. The freezing breeze which had seemed so gentle earlier whipped snow across the hard planes of my cheeks. The bridge gave a groan, I froze, was it going to collapse? Was the bridge going to claim my life as it had claimed my sisters? The wood gave a shriek as if to protest against the vile deed that the wind was going to make it commit. The wind paused as if in thought, then took up again ten times as strong as if it wanted to make up for that second where it had not been howling.
Then the bridge was no longer beneath my feet, I tumbled head first into the raging waters that had lurked beneath the non-existent bridge, the battle of my thoughts so big and dramatic I couldn’t even start to fight for my survival. My last conscious thought was ‘I hope they miss me’.





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