From her window, if she left one ear on the sagging pillow, slightly raising her left shoulder, she could just about peep over the ledge before the squeal of the burnt tyres fled like a stamped out fire. Refracted and misdirected in the sweat lined window pane, the light appeared dis-coloured and vague in shape. She sighed, letting her head sink back again. It reminded her of the obscure vision that played in her brain, danced through the rain of pervasive thoughts that told her perhaps but in short, she would have to work, wait, before her great escape.
Victoria O, Copyrighted