Author's note: This piece was inspired really weirdly. I was drinking red bull then watching the duchess and... Show full author's note »
Walk Of ShameFour Years Later.
A Pirate’s Promise.
Walk of shame. That’s what they called it, right? I certainly felt shamed. I wrapped my coat as tightly as possible around my frozen body; the thin and crisp material barely reaching my knees, only hanging just below my dress. I had been out all night. I was taking my walk of shame at six o clock in the morning.
This was London, so even because of the peculiar time people were still up and about - and staring. They stared at me. They had all seen it before, the drunken teenager, the blonde with the short dress. But still they stared.
So, now there was a brunette with bright blue eyes in an extremely provocative dress wandering around London at night. Morning. Whatever. Mercy Cobalt you damn idiot.
I thought of home. Home. Just the very thought of it comforted my mind. I imagined crackling fires and roast dinners. I can remember the rain gently tapping and rolling down the window as I sat and watched TV with my border collie Lassie. I’d be home alone, I usually was. I would only be greeted by my stepmother and my father who would be drowned in work and business meetings. We don’t talk about mother, ever. Father doesn’t want to. I don’t want to. There was no argument in that case. I try not to think of her. Would you think of your mother if she was killed, and killed was being delicate? Indelicate? She was murdered.
Then once again the thoughts of home swarmed my mind. I felt warm. Then reality hit me, home was three long and cold miles away. And once again, I felt very cold.
I sat down on a wooden bench.
In Memory of Elizabeth Benjamin
1956 – 2004
Death is just so intimidating isn’t it? I kicked of my heels, the heavy shoes landing about a meter away, and curled my feet around. I just needed to stop, just for one moment. I don’t know why. I wasn’t tired, I was just cold. And I only wanted to sit down for a short while.
It was quiet now. Eerie. In a sinister way. The last people that wandered this barren street had just dipped round a corner. Now I was alone. I was just scaring myself . I know that. Imagining the dark figures that meandered throughout London. The psychos and criminals. Sudden thoughts of the notorious jack the ripper filled my mind and I couldn’t help but let out a small whimper.
“That’s it!” I screeched. Making a lot more noise than I hoped so. A part of me, a stupid part of me hoping this was a way of scaring of the monsters. I bent down, my pale fingers reaching out towards my shoes. My bare feet on the dirty concrete ground, sending shivers up my spine.
Something moved. I swear something moved. It was a blur, a shadow? Just a trick of the light? It – was? Wasn’t it? That’s when I knew I should have run at that point. I knew I needed to run. But I didn’t. I stayed still, bent over, my hands just touching my shoes. Oh hell I should have run.
Dear Evangeline Cobalt,
We have got here now. I am assuring you that we have. In fact it was easier than we thought it was even if it did take an extra four years. Years and years of planning but only ten minutes to take her.