Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing
23
Ceara Caton
Nightmare
The girl stepped out into the alley’s glow. He wouldn’t be on her trail for a while. She had time to rest. At
least for a moment she would try to seize back the air that had been deprived from her as she ran. The
ground beneath her feet was littered with fragments of broken glass and garbage. Mammoth cardboard boxes
towered above her small outline as she curled herself in the space between the two buildings. The air around
her was heavy and smelled strongly of the filth that prevailed through the city.
She rocked back and forth, trying to create any warmth she could. Her elbow knocked against a brick and
cursing, she put pressure on the scrape to convince it not to bleed. The last thing she needed was another
injury, no matter how minor it was.
She rose from her nest. Resting time was over, no matter how much her muscles ached. Footsteps echoed in
the alley behind her. Spinning around, she saw nothing, but crouched back into her hiding spot just in case. She
looked and her anxiety eased as she realized it was just an old drunken man, trying to find his solace in the
dark. Almost like her, running from something, not even sure what it was.
Well at least I’m not stumbling around drunk. The thought rang hollow inside her. A voice in her head laughed
sardonically. At least no one is trying to kill him.
She got up and stretched. The bruises on her arms and thighs were starting to show more clearly now. They
looked black in comparison to her pale skin. She could almost make out his fingerprints where he had held
back her arms, and on her legs, where he had thrust them apart. She scolded herself again for not changing
clothes. Her short jean cutoffs did nothing against the cold of the alley; they did nothing to cover the marks
that the last few days had left her with.
Looking around, she took a survey of her surroundings. She couldn’t see much because of the dark, but a light
farther down the roadway was all she needed to read the street sign. Kingsley Ave. The name opened another
emotional wound as she remembered a small diner a few blocks away. One of the many times he had tried to
apologize, he had taken her there for breakfast. Back when he actually cared enough to make her happy.
She made her way past the wino who seemed to have fallen asleep where he fell. She picked her way over the
broken debris and carefully tried not to make a sound. She looked over her shoulder, aware of every shadow
that she passed; trying not to imagine a man ready to jump out at her.
She could be with her family right now. Her mother had said she shouldn’t have left to go with him. She had
been so young at the time, and was now cast out on the street, running for her life at twenty-one.
A part of her wanted to call her mother, wanted to ask to come home. But she was stronger than this. She
could never call. Her mother could never know.
As she rounded the corner at the end of the alley and turned onto an empty street, she allowed herself to
sink into a memory. She didn’t do this often for fear that she would break down and completely lose her
nerve.
It was her wedding day; everything had been perfect. They didn’t have the money for a nice proper wedding in
a church, but she had done her best to fix up her mother’s garden for the special event. The small family wedding
remained in her mind as the most beautiful afternoon of her life. She still had a clear image of walking
around the corner of the house down the flowered aisle. It was the same corner of the building she had torn
around countless times, running with her friends when she was young. Part of her saw it as a right of passage.
She was really growing up. No more games and running around as a child. Her wedding day had arrived and
windScript volume 24