she can still feel the sound of her feet

A woman reminisces about her marriage and divorce as she travels home onen rainy night.

under the beat of the music she blares, she can still feel the sound of her feet on the road; slap smack slap smack on the gravel and again on the cement of the pathways in between. something about walking like this, hiding behind a pair of sunglasses while her tears leak out and blend with the rain and the dark of approaching night, leaves her feeling a little bit vulnerable; colours of black and blue and touches of purple, echo in the fading light. she's facing down the rain and fighting off the ache that lurks in her chest and her throat and leaves her choking slightly on a grey green emptiness deep in her bones. all the way to the station the slap smack follows her as she pulls herself together slowly, carefully; chases her even onto the train where the people stare at her; that girl with the nerve; the very audacity, to present herself, shaggy with raindrops (and misery she thinks is pencilled all over her face). she sees the stares, the faces and the feelings; hears the whispers above the desperate beat of a song written in middle-of-the-night despondancy. "teenagers today," one woman begins, "just don't think beyond themselves." the woman's companion loudly agrees and the girl blushes and shrinks into herself; feels selfish and clumsy, oh-so-awkward in unshod feet and painted smile. across the carriage, a pair of young men snigger and she thinks it obvious they're laughing at her; fancies they can see into her mind and view her innermost thoughts, painted in black and red, and blue and purple and a couple of shades of grey. she collapses into a seat as the whistle blows and the train pulls away; shrunk as small as she can get, she takes up barely half of her chair in fear of somehow brushing up against the stranger beside her. keeping her head as still as possible, she takes in as much as she can of the people around her without ever making eye contact with anyone; writes stories in her mind of what they're doing, where they're going. a few rows over, an older gentleman taps a newspaper on his legs and stares out the window; his face is tired but his eyes smile. something about him draws her eyes and she watches him the longest she's watched anyone before; creates intricate storylines for the tale of his life even as she knows the plain and simple truth of his life is more beautiful still.

a few stops later, her heart breaks a little more as a young couple depart; he caressing her swollen belly and guiding her out the door. she wonders where they've been and bites down on her lip as a barrage of purple memories assails her and she thinks of his hand travelling up past their bridesmaid knee the day of their wedding; his hands caressing the bridesmaid's beautiful body on the same couch where she lay in terrified misery, knowing that he deserved better than the ugly emptiness that was all she had to offer. she'll never forget her purple wedding or the grey of the night while he lay with their bridesmaid and she on the couch beside him, hearing it all and sobbing so desperately on the inside; and she'll never forget the flowers that arrived the next day for the wrong reasons from the wrong person.

as the train pulls out of her station, she's already across the overbridge and heading onto the road. under the beat of the music she blares, she can still feel the sound of her feet on the bitchumen; slap smack slap smack; still feels vulnerable walking like this, hiding behind a pair of sunglasses while her tears leak out and blend with the rain and the evening dark.

Author's Note

All polite/relevant reviews are welcome - including constructive critique, grammar and spelling corrections. (Although it should be noted that this piece is deliberately left uncapitalised.) And thank you for reading/leaving a review!