This is another short story which I wrote towards the end of last year. It was originally for a school writing competition, though I never got around to entering it. The competition was to write a piece based on one of three pictures, this story coming from the picture below. To be honest, I didn’t think much of it at the time, and I’m still not sure if I like it or not.
I sigh, turning away from my bedroom window. It’s a beautiful day; all blue skies and sparkling waters. With not a cloud in sight, the sun shines brilliantly down on the surrounding seas, the lightly sloshing waves sweeping right in to shore.
But I can’t stand it.
Flinging myself onto my bed, I look at the heavy drapes hanging from their posts. I’ve had enough of this place, of its beauty; wonderfully spectacular, yet so malicious, surrounding me in a person jail. Sure, my house is nice enough, but would you trade a plain old house for the chance to live a normal life, like every other fourteen year old gets to live?
I suppose I should call this place a home. A place to come back to in my worst times, to a family who loves me, who feeds me and cares for me. The only problem here is, I won’t be coming back.
I have planned this day for a long time, slowly working up the courage and creating a plan, though in truth I can tell you that this was just my subconscious stalling me. But no longer. Starting now, I reach under my bed, taking out the thick coil of rope hidden carefully out of sight. The next part is harder.
Quietly, for I desperately do not want to be caught out, I sneak down the stairs, through the hallway and into the downstairs office. Closing the door softly behind me, I dash to the window, opening it as wide as it will give without breaking the latches.
Then I climb out. Simple as that. Or so I thought. That’s when the rope comes into play. I chose the office specifically for the slight outcropping of rock beside the window; a jagged point perfect for tying my rope around, which I hurry to do.
When its length swings close to the waterline, I take a deep breath before scrambling out, groping at the rope and rocks for dear life. Our little island, which is truly just a pillar of freestanding rock broken off from an area where the ocean has eroded a cliff, has quite a steep decline.
Slowly I slide down, keeping my feet against the rock face, until the water rises up to meet me. Knowing I cannot turn back now, I let go of the rope, splashing down into the warm, welcoming water below.
As I swam towards the shore, no thoughts of turning back to my house upon the island clouded my judgement. The only thing circling through my mind was the fact that my life had finally, finally begun.