daylight.

I found this some time ago, I think I wrote it for some short story competition when I was in Year 12 or was it Year 11...

She tries not to think of what has happened, the reason she is walking the streets at night in the rain. Pulling her thick black trenchcoat more tightly around herself, she looks up at the warm dimness of the streetlights, and, shivering, wishes that she had brought an umbrella. Not that she could have thought of it. Totally sodden, she continues walking with slow, steady steps, raindrops echoing every splash that she makes. She notices how much more interesting the city looks at night- shrouded in mystery, the shadows friendly fingers of midnight that reach out to touch her. The night is her escape. She keeps walking.

The neon glare of a twenty-four hour convenience store interrupts her reverie, and, hesitating, she gently pushes open its cold glass doors. The bright, impersonal fluorescent lights and neat, uniform aisles greet her. She squints, her eyes dazzled by the sudden harsh light, and she turns to go back out to her refuge of darkness. Turning, she is assaulted by a profusion of brilliant colours. She leans closer. Ah, Skittles. Children’s candy- the attraction of colour, burning bright. On a whim, she grabs a packet and makes her way towards the counter.

The boy working the night shift cannot be more than fifteen years old. He eyes her with disdain, taking in her dripping hair, running makeup, and soggy clothes. She puts the packet of Skittles on the counter and unearths a soggy five dollar note. He takes it by one corner is if it were toxic, and puts her change on the counter. She sees all this, but says nothing, and is glad to step out into the night.

Standing outside, she tears the packet open clumsily, scattering coloured droplets of red and orange, yellow, blue and green into the air, and she is left with nothing. The pill-like sweets are slowly engulfed by the mud that decorates the pavement.

She sees how her fate is like that of the packet of Skittles, and laughs bitterly. It makes her remember how she loved playing Skittles- the game- as a child. The power in holding the ball that scattered pins of brightly coloured opposition, the game in which she never lost, never retreated. Only now, she does not see the ball go, but instead sees it coming towards her, knocking her over. She wonders why people cannot see through her sunny exterior, her money, her looks, and see the misery of her soul. She wonders. But now, her world is her own, formed on the streets of the city in the darkness of night, under the comforting glow of streetlights, watered by the persistent rain.

She looks up along the stark outline of the sky, and watches as a pink tinge gradually spreads and grows stronger. The streetlights turn off, as if hiding from the rising sun. Already the night seems like a dream past. Daylight.

Daylight.