It was an empty road, no one was in sight, strangely even the ever obedient shadow seemed to have deserted her. The fourth drink she had gulped was taking effect on her slowly, the legs had begun to a shake a little, and the steps had began, to kind of, weary a little. The night looked fully dark, may be it was a no moon day, she did not care, just couple of months back, she would have got frightened. The darkness, the prospects of a group of junkies around the corner who could totally take advantage of a drunk damsel, with no one in sight for miles, anything could have happened. She walked undisturbed, as though she absolutely had no fear.
As she walked a couple of steps, the faint light coming out of a barn nearby hit part of her body, the high pointed heals she wore was almost visible, along with it the dripping oily stuff onto the road, a closer look revealed it was indeed dropping from the piece of glass stuck to her calf and was not oil by any means. She must have been really careless after the first few drinks. It can make anyone wonder, “isn’t she feeling the pain?”. The glass was still stuck in there. The reality was, it was not the glass, nor even her state in the middle of the night, with every step she took, the blows which she took on her body, on herself, was paining her more.
The drink that she had was really not helping her, it was supposed to deafen her, she really didn’t want to hear the inner voices, the shouts from her memory had plagued her too much, she really needed a break, but the drink had absolutely no effect when it came to the disturbing accusations made against her. Nope it was not society, she really wouldn’t have cared if it were people, it was him, her “own” him.
She was not sure if she was right in choosing this road, was she right in deciding to not put up with the pain, was she right in disowning the own, or disowning something which may have never been hers anytime. Was she on the right road, she must have asked herself million times by now, and every time she just got one answer, memories, the bad ones, the real bad ones.
Sometimes when man does not know the answer, the hero up there has a special way to send them answers, as she walked to the edge of the street, beginning on the steep climb uphill, the first rays of the raising sun fell gracefully onto the street.
This week was over at skittles for Heads or Tails, the prompt is “road”, I had never attempted a short story, so here it goes my attempt at a short fiction titled “On the road”