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Trapped

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Trapped

I felt my body uncontrollably sway as i stood on the rickety wooden bridge, the champagne spilling out of the glass I was holding in my manicured left hand. The beautiful ring my father had generously purchased for me on my 16th birthday fiercely digging into my finger as I clutched the crystal glass with all my strength. My strength was obviously too much, for the glass shattered into thousands of delicate, tiny pieces. I gasped in shock as the glass crunched into the soft skin of my hand, blood and champagne trickled down my arm and my ivory, pearl dress and onto my foot. I winced as my hand began to throb, a wave of anger shook my body and I furiously kicked the pair of painful, shocking pick, 5 inch stiletto’s off my feet and into the dark, flower filled water beneath me. I winced in pain as I angrily placed my feet back onto the bridge and instantly felt sharp pieces of glass sink meaningfully into my blistered feet.

Comments:

1 Howard | on 06 February 2009

Good writing, Louisa. I love the image of champagne and blood!

2 m.e.g. | on 31 March 2009

like it smile

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