She ran, ran as fast as her legs would carry her, down the long winding alleyway, dodging puddles, cobbles slippery underfoot. The street lights casting an eerie yellow light, cut by shadows that blur in the tears streaming down her sunken cheeks. She fell against the old red brick wall, its crumbling surface scrawled with the brightly colored daubs of smalltown wannabe graffiti artists. Broken glass and cans litter the ground around her feet. She rests her forehead on the wet brick, the fine rain soaking through her thin grey dress. She hears his voice in the distance, a note of panic in his usually calm voice "Carol, Carol, don't be stupid, come home".
Could she be trusted, was the sweetness and light demeanour real? It appeared so, so why was his gut telling him otherwise. Was she baiting him? carefully setting him up with a smile on her 'butter wouldn't melt' face; putting a stumbling block that she knew would trip him, or was it just another coincidence ? One that fed into his mistrust of women like her. For now he would just play the game, give her the benefit of the doubt. But he would watch her. . . closely.
The ocean rushed and swirled around her feet. Pulling and pushing at her sunbrowned legs as her feet sank deeper into the shifting sands. Night was falling. The Moon, almost full, cast its silvery light onto the undulating surface of that huge ocean spread out before her.
Crashing waves hurled themselves to shore, leaving behind glistening sand as they retreated back into that steel grey and silver world. She could feel the power. The ocean, the moon, her fragile self set in this landscape - and she began to cry, hot stinging salt water tears, that ran down her face and joined with the ocean at her feet.
They layed on their backs on the warm summer grass staring up at the vast blue dome above. Wisps of cotton white clouds morphed from one shape to another before dissolving back into the endless blue. She lazily reached out for his hand, she could feel the sun warming her through to her bones. Sounds of distant laughter and birdsong were the soundtrack to this perfect day. She could feel the strong steady beat of her heart and noticed it flutter in her chest whenever she thought of him.
The curtains blew gently in the breeze from the open door. She stared at the intricate patterns of sunlight and shade cast upon the wall by the late afternoon light. Hypnotised by the shimmering pattern and movement, she felt a wave of happiness surge up through her body and transform itself to a giggle as it reached her mouth.
Pink Floyd were turning in the tape deck. David Gilmours guitar solo arced out of the huge black speakers squatted firmly on the thin carpet. Streaks of colour accompanied the delicious sound and intensified with each soaring note, a feast for her raw senses. She felt a gentle touch on her hand and smiled as he reached over and passed her another joint.