Who I am.

insight eight wind weaves through my torn jumper as I sprint through the deserted forest, frost biting at every branch. cradling my frayed grey bag in my arms, i exhale heavy mist from my chapped lips. I have come too far to stop, I must keep running.  escaping. journeying onto a free land. ~ this helped me win a writing competition in my area ... yay big crowds and posh people ...  ~ 👽

insight seven Trigger warning - insinuation of SA (entirely fictional) I flinch as I run my fingers over my legs, over the white lines standing out upon my slightly toasted flesh. Don’t think about it, don’t think about that night. Opening my eyes slowly, I flash back to the evening of my nightmares, and all the tears come flooding back. Near my left leg a man’s hand lies and his other silences my screams. Torn from life, I lay there lifeless, scared of everything that might come. Waking up in the dark, my head pounds as I try to work out where I am.   An orange glimmer of a street light shines behind me as I comb my fingers through my blood washed hair. Nervously, I creep through the streets, attempting to find my way home. Tired and fragile, I lock my front door and fall sleep on the cold sofa. Tiptoeing into my room, I change into a casual outfit and throw my blood stained clothes away. Opening my curtains, I realise how different my life is going to be after that night. ...

insight five  Isolated rain waters the horizon, as I jog through the woods behind my home. With dug out badger bungalows and lifted roots of willow trees, the forest made a peaceful motherland for all that lived. I slow down my pace when I reach the brown pipe, a long wide tube that can be balanced upon only by the most skilled of beings. Let it be said that I am not talented nor a professional gymnast but somehow I manage to remain upon it. Levelling my arms with my shoulders, I place one foot at a slight angle in front of the other, tracing my movements down the pole. Nearing the end of my performance, I leap into the air and travel a distance only applauded by a single squirrel in the nearby oak tree. Oblivious to the passing of time, I detect a small tear journey down my face, but it’s not me who is melancholy. Tilting my head towards the skies, I feel more droplets dance upon my cheeks. To avoid being showered from head to toe, I dash through the trees to search fo...