Autumn in London

Prologue

Dusty walls loomed over a young woman sitting on an old, tiny cot. She tilted her head with curiosity as she watched a spider silently making its way through the growing web in the corner.

It wasn’t a decent home in any way, for it was an unkempt, filthy and long-forgotten attic an elderly woman had decided to put up for rent. The aged, rotting, wooden floor cringed, threatening to break at the tiniest shift of weight upon it, and the cold dampness of London’s autumn showers seeped in through the bricked walls of the miserable niche. Cold and darkness reigned the place, the sole source of light in the room being a small, cracked window in the ceiling which allowed faint rays of pale, cold sunlight to dimly light up the sombre room.

Long, dark strands of wild, curly hair fell over her face as she threw herself down on the cot; a faint, warm, pleased smile formed on her lips despite the melancholic gloom engulfing her surroundings.

In many ways, the place reminded the young girl of her old home back in Madrid; small, cramped, and old. However, she was no longer in Spain. After four years of arduous work, of sweat, pain and bitter tears, she had managed to move over to England, like she had dreamt of for what had seemed an eternity.

Looking up at the window, she extended her small, dainty hand as if yearning to reach out to the skies and take a grasp of light before it was completely consumed by the dark clouds anticipating the upcoming storm. London had a peculiar light to it. It was a striking contrast to her homeland. Unlike Madrid, where the golden sun tinted the skies of warm, rosy, lively colours, London had more of a greyscale, silvery palette to it, cold yet mysterious, with a wistful beauty to it.

Her small hand seemed to acquire a ghastly glow under the faint sunlight. She closed her eyes after contemplating it for a while, letting her mind wander off into warm memories of laughter, of anger, of that lingering touch of a farewell embrace.

Rain drops began pounding softly at the window, water slowly filtering through the crack and dropping on her forehead. Suddenly broken out of her haze, she opened her eyes and quickly scrambled out of bed. She knew she had someone to find.  After four years had fleetingly passed by, she couldn’t afford to allow any more time to slip through her fingers.

She shoved her thick hair under an old, newsboy cap and slid her hand into the pocket of the old, worn-out trench coat she was wearing, taking out the little pocket money she had left. Disheartened, she sighed at the sight of twenty mere shillings.

Better get working soon. She told herself, biting her lower lip as she grabbed her umbrella.

Opening the door, she quickly stepped down the steep stairs, which eerily moaned under her weight. She passed through several other rooms, hearing cries, groans and fights, all dreadful sounds she was all too familiar with. A cold downpour greeted her as she opened front door. Taking a deep breath, she opened her umbrella before venturing into the rainy streets of London.