Oh the joys of inspiration! Hope you like it.

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Absentmindedly, Deidre pulled melted wax off an octagon-shaped candle. It was one of those aromatherapy things, and to Deidre, absolutely useless. But nonetheless, Aunt Tania sent her a pack of five for her birthday every year. This time they were purple and blue. Last year, red and yellow, like her perfectly polished fingernails. With sudden conviction, she dug those fingernails deep into the violet wax. They cut through cleanly, and came out feeling sticky. Deidre swore quietly. Why wouldn’t he leave?

Through her poster-plastered plexiwood door, she could hear her mother giggling. Father would be heartbroken; but as her mother said, Father wasn’t here. "Stupid." Deidre flung the candle away from her. How dare she? Bringing that fancy-shmancy lawyer home like she was seventeen. Showing him off to all her friends. It made Deidre sick.

Something in the living room broke. Glass, it sounded like. Probably one of those glasses Mother always yelled at her to be careful with. Grinding her teeth, Deidre rolled over and slid off her creaking bed. Watery moonlight shone silver through her square window, illuminating the millions of dust particles floating through the air. As a child Deidre used to sit up at night trying to catch the dust, her pale, chubby child fingers grabbing uselessly at empty air.

The window had no lock -- a rusting white metal frame, yes, but no safety-catch. The shining pane slid back silently, the only thing working properly in the house. With practiced ease, Deidre hoisted herself out into the night, tumbling onto silver-tipped grass. The night air was light and sweet, a drastic improvement from the heavy oil and garbage smell that clogged this neighbourhood during the day.

Along the grassy slope Deidre ran, into New London’s only park. Years ago her father had made sure he bought a house by it; she could still remember the arguments over that... And silently Deidre thanked him for it, optimistically looking skyward as she did so.

It had rained that afternoon and the grass was cold and wet against her bare feet. She loved it. Through the trees and bushes she ran, branches reaching out and snagging her T-shirt and scratching her bare skin. But the night was beautiful and the momentary pain wasn’t given a second thought.

She emerged from the thicket, blinded by moonlight, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek, grinning. She could run to the edge of the world and back tonight. And she was going to. With moonlight wings on her ankles and plants twisted through her hair she ran. Ran and ran until there was nothing left to run on.

Stumbling, she tried to stop, but her weight forced her forward, over the edge of the bridge, plummeting towards the inky black that ended in dirty concrete. The metal plating ripped off her dust wings, and the living things in her hair lost their grip and fell with her, all around her. Dyed silver, she fell through the night’s black, her eyes shut and her tears hard crystals.

***

Opening her heavy lids, Deidre looked around. The air was sickly sweet with the smell of an aromatherapy candle and her window was shut. She was tangled in sweaty sheets and her mother was still giggling in the living room.

Something in the living room broke. Glass, it sounded like. Probably one of those glasses Mother always yelled at her to be careful with. Grinding her teeth, Deidre rolled over and slid off her creaking bed. Watery moonlight shone silver through her square window, illuminating the millions of dust particles floating through the air. As a child Deidre used to sit up at night trying to catch the dust, her pale, chubby child fingers grabbing uselessly at empty air.

The window had no lock -- a rusting white metal frame, yes, but no safety-catch. The shining pane slid back silently, the only thing working properly in the house. With practiced ease, Deidre hoisted herself out into the night, tumbling onto silver-tipped grass.