Journey

We reached the old, blistered kissing gate. Its bars crumbled and flaked at my quivering, nervous touch. Once young and shiny, now antiquated and forgotten, pushed aside to make way for each generation. The gate groaned with discomfort and howled as if in pain while its hard fought battle with its unbearable age was coming to an overdue end. Despite the agonising cries for help, I pushed against its rusty, decayed hinges and moved into the next level of my journey. My feet navigated themselves down some steep stone steps and over the horizen, my eyes detected the outline of the eerie, unlit, narrow meandering path that lay before me. 1

The air had changed, I could sense it. The bitter, lingering taste of rotten garbage caught the back of my gagging throat, as the sudden smell of fear and panic stung my frozen nostrils. My shoulders tensed when my friend's step quickened and my grip on her jacket tightened, My paranoid nature unwillingly transformed the whispering winter trees into murmuring murderous demons, and their harmless entwined branches into hands of knives and clutching claws.2

With my mind wandering elsewhere, it came as a shock to the system when huge, heavy, hammering rocks of water pounded on my frightened, unarmed head. We started to run. Our legs thumping the same inconsistant rhythm as the unforeseen rain which had soaked our clothes to full capacity. The gruelling ground changed into lethal, slippery sludge as the rain merged itself inevitably with each inch of our pathway. 3

The cris-crossed wire fence that separated us from the daunting railway couln't hide the image of sleepers lying like broken teeth in a brace of daring metal and the dusky shadows of the moon looming over the smashed up ticket office and burnt out bins. Papers flying in a sharp gust of wind and sounds like gunshots resinate from the banging doors. Tired engines standing shoulder to shoulder like saddened phantoms from another world. 4

My attention was suddenly thrust bake to reality by the unfamilier sound of large wings, that appeared to act like sails and go with the tide as a creature flew over the dark remains of a football pitch. The sounds of the crowds long gone, echo around the empty stadium. Litter, like flotsom and jetsom , is buffeted by the whisteling breeze. Debris lying stroon in each corner, beer cans, burger boxes. The remains of the day- deserted. But again I noticed the fence. Tangled with creeping poison ivy which seemed to discharge a cold hearted laugh as we trampled over the worthless weeds, who looked to be drowning in the rising river of muddy swamp water.5

even though my eyes struggled to stay open, I couldn't have missed the light. Like a burning candle amidst its inky surroundings. A lost angel among the realms of hell. A street-lamp overlooking the exit.6