𝐆𝐎-𝐆𝐎 | 𝐬.𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬

𝟎𝟎𝟗. 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

Mitsy didn't want to go home.

Not to that horrid house where her mother sat on her overly expensive couch, maroon nails tapping rhythmically against the hideous piece of furniture as she patiently waited for her with a devil on her shoulder. A twisted grin on her face as she showed her the letter dooming her to a girls home. It was hard to believe that an angel had ever existed on the other side of Margaret, whispering sweet nothings to her, telling her to do good, the difference between right and wrong. But if Mitsy knew anything about her mother, it sure as hell wasn't there anymore.

Her theories vary to; how it died the moment she got married, got flushed out at the hands of puberty, got killed by her own mother, took a skydive off her shoulder when it realised that there was no hope in her, resigned two weeks in, or if she was just born that way.

All seem pretty realistic...

Under the soft glow of flickering street lights, Mitsy wandered by desolate homes, the dull padding of her ballet flats seemed to echo among the lively chirps of the crickets that hid beneath unkempt bushes and the leaves that swayed gently in the tall trees.

The city, usually bustling with life, now lay cloaked in a stillness that seemed to mirror her thoughts. Empty, one could call them lifeless. She had no idea where she was, or where she was going, but she knew she wanted to be as far away from 'home' as she could get. With each step, she tried to distance herself from the argument that had sent her fleeing, but her words reverberated like a broken cassette in her mind.

The gentle breeze ruffled her hair, as it whispered through the empty alleyways. Mitsy's heart was coated in trepidation – she knew she couldn't stay out on the streets indefinitely, but returning home felt like admitting defeat, caving in to everything she tried to push away.

As she walked, her surroundings gradually changed. The familiar streets of The West Side gave way to unfamiliar corners of the city, but she knew that each turn she took led her further, and further away from Margaret. Time seemed to lose its meaning as she traversed the cityscape, lost in her thoughts and the steady rhythm of her steps.

With the hours passing, exhaustion began to weigh on her, and the initial adrenaline that had propelled her out of her house began to wane. She found herself on a park bench, her eyes fixated on a distant lamppost, its warm glow casting a gentle halo in the darkness. Doubt tugged at her again – was leaving really the right choice?

That's when she heard it.

A distant, plaintive voice that carried shakily on the wind through aching gasps and choked sobs. It was a young voice, naive and full of fear. The sound of one an age much like herself. Its pained cries echoed through the park, bouncing against the trees and hitting into her ears like a punch, it was sudden, yet it continued to throb with every move you took.

A distance from where she rested on the comforts of the park bench, a blue denim jacket lay limp on the pavement floor. She didn't know what it was about that deserted jacket that simply lay on the ground that bubbled such an intense sense of fear in the pit of her stomach gnawing at each shallow breath she took.

It was like she was frozen in place, stuck clutching the fabric of her nightgown as her silhouette quivered against the back of the worn wooden bench. Her gaze sharply flitted from one shadow to another as they moved in the dark, almost waiting for an unseen threat lurking in the night. The rustling of every leaf or the chirp of every cricket sent the horrible feeling of shivers down her spine, fear. She clutched at her silk-clad arms, attempting to find comfort in the warmth of her own touch amidst the overwhelming dread that overcame her.