Monday, 31 January 2011
F3 - Cycle 16 - 'BREAKOUT'
The theme for this challenge from F3 was 'Possession' - as in '....is nine tenths of the law...'. So, with the prompting 1st sentence in italics, here's what I came up with!
I stepped out into the frigged cold, instinctively I cowered into the depth of my heavy coat, shoving bare hands deep into its pockets.
A smile threatened to break out on my face alerting secret watchers to facts I’d rather keep to myself, so I slunk my chin down into the encircling folds of the red muffler I wore, concealing the truth.
Head down, I walked on concentrating on my pace; not too quick and not too slow. Not too even, either. I dodged around the oncoming traffic of people, also head down, avoiding eye-contact with their fellow lemmings as they headed towards the subway and the environs that lay beyond the city.
The unseen smile tweaked at the corners of my mouth and forced me to accept the indulgence of good humour and I relaxed a little, my heartbeat accompaniment loosening its rhythm and keeping time with my less urgent breathing.
Two blocks further I dared to un-ball the fist I’d plunged deep into the Worsted and silk lining of my left coat pocket. Relaxing the tension in my hand I allowed my fingers to explore the contours of the treasure that had been clasped so tightly.
It felt cold to the touch; smooth cold metal. As cold as this freezing New York evening. As cold as my heart
I fingered the intricate curves and recesses daring myself to handle it, hold it; feel its weight. Of course, I’d never really intended to use it. My motive was to employ it as a deterrent, allowing me to escape once and for all.
When I’d come across the small brown box at the back of Lawrence’s closet I’d been stunned at first, but slowly came the realisation that the end to years of being trapped in an unequal relationship lay in my taking possession of this small but deadly item and making a stand.
How could he know I’d not even worked out how to load the damn thing, he’d been too scared watching my gentle progress backing out of the door, his eyes riveted on the barrel that pointed directly at him.
Even now, I wondered if I could ever have actually pulled the trigger, but grateful all the same that I hadn’t needed to – the look of shocked defeat on his face told me he knew it was over and that I wasn’t coming back.
A siren halted me almost literally in my tracks and my head spun back to see whether or not I’d be stopped. Had Lawrence grown some courage and called the police and was I right now being hunted down, like some mere chattle to be returned to him and his controlling ways?
It took micro-seconds for my heart beat to ratchet up to full throttle, the deafening repetitive thud almost making me visibly quake; but the siren passed me at speed, its tone distorted as it continued on, leaving me far behind.
Three more blocks and I could descend to the comparative safety of the subway and be lost in the rush of faces and bodies and baggage. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, I forced myself forwards to freedom.
The gun that nestled in my hand would find a new home later that night somewhere in the depths of the East River, perhaps, falling unseen into the silt and mud. And Lawrence would be forever silent in my mind, just a ghost in my past.