Creative writing – Prejudice

Daybreak is on the horizon. Consciousness spreads among creatures like wildfire as one by one, they rise from their slumber. Walking past allies where the tomcats lurk, hovering to watch as they retreat back into the darkness like a stone sinking into the ocean. The sky, a blue orange haze, littered with small specs of white that float slowly down to earth. The sun makes its grand appearance, peering through the sad, lonely buildings, making the dew on the shop windows gleam with its reflection. The golden tinge shines, claiming its surroundings like a water droplet splashing onto a stone counter, bringing light to this damp monotonous town that so many people all a fresh start. The light races around the bends in the streets, finding its way into each crack and crevice that is desperately trying to hold onto its darkness. The morning dew drops drip, down the flaky, rickety windows frames of the petite shops, creating streams of water that dodge around the congealed paint spots on the windows panes. Watching the people’s reflections as they amble by, morphing, and changing shape to match the bends of the glass. The trees separate the light from the freshly risen sun, making it flicker like strobe lights as people pass by. The amount of hustle and bustle on the streets and sidewalks steadily inclines as people hurry to their destinations. The piercing, chilled air causes surrounding beings to pull their scarves tighter around their necks as they wander, continuing hastily on their journeys. Always in a rush, it seems. Steam rises up out of the water that has pooled in the potholes in the road as Fog sharply exits the mouths of passers by as they breathe, in and out. In and out.

Look, as the orange, glowing hue sweeps upon the hill. Like a blanket, the light wraps the sky, starting at the icy peaks of the hill and making its way up the distant wall and along the ceiling of the sky. Look, as the figure waddles, slowly, surely, watching the morning dew drops drip. Peacefully, minding their business. Look. At the crumbling concrete paths unwanted visitor. The damp moss latches, intertwining into the cracked stone, clinging to it like a parasite. Look. Past the intertwining paths and streets and the sad, dejected brick buildings. Past the mountains littered with freckles of ice and snow, and up beyond the horizon. Sometimes, wondering how such a detached, foreign town can sometimes hold such beauty. Passing shop after shop, window after window, walking underneath the striped overhangs outside the compacted shop fronts. The overhangs, strung up like circus tents, cast colourful shadows on faces as they pass underneath. Wondering how a town decorated so accordingly, can hide so many secretes.

Dressed in a t-shirt that reads ‘To cool for you’, paired with the kids size 16, bright pink puffer jacket, perfectly displaying the level of maturity. Pacing, turning a corner, passing the gasps and murmurs and disapproving looks, generated by instinct from strangers. Passing eyes get cast upon the the teenager that carries alot of emotional baggage upon her arms. The state of a pregnant belly, upon a 16 year old is enough to draw eyes where they are not wanted. The people arn’t happy, the strangers arn’t happy, they think they know best. The judge the situation they think was a stupid mistake. A reckless act. A careless lack of judgment. Nothing less. They don’t know the whole story, any of the story really, but still feel obliged to give an opinion. There quick to point blame you know. They think their input is valid. But she ignores them. She strolls. Feeling firm, certain, hopeful, watching the dew drops drip.

Listen. To the soft bird chirps as they dive, and swoop through the crisp morning air. The soft wind rustles the trees, making their leaves rattle like wind chimes. But alas these comforting sounds are soon drowned out. Listen closer. To the scoffs, coming from invaders mouths as they judge the state that they don’t know, couldn’t be helped. The murmurs from mothers to their daughters. “See, you don’t want to end up like her” Listen. To the the invisible compulsion always seeming to be unknowingly trying to knock down defence barriers. Comments, always drifting through the air; “Your to young”, “You can’t take care of it”, “How are you going to pay for it”, “How could you be so careless”, “Is the father still around”. Comments that contain waves of prejudice and judgment toward the situation. Around another corner, another turn, interrupted by more insulting small talk. Surrounded, caged in by cold buildings that now block out the light. The buildings, built like prison bars, casting dark shadows around every bend. Large glass windows in every room, letting residents peer down on you, letting them in on where you’re going and what you’re doing. As if their window gives them a free pass into your business. Feeling like eyes are always on you, always watching. Every comment that gets fired, chips off a little bit more of confidence. But now all the comments are getting to her. Now she scampers. Feeling weary, guarded, cautious. The dew drops dripping going unnoticed.

Up the cold stairs. The atmosphere, now fully lit up by the ball of heat that hovers midway in the sky. The condensed, crisp morning air is now gone, being replaced with the smell of cheap fast food and engine fuel. The soft chirps of birds now faded. Being replaced by angry beeps from cars and clicks of hastily moving heels on the cold stone stairs. One step at a time. People’s passing eyes, question the mistake they think that you made. You walk. Through the pillars that symbolise hope and punishment and up into the room where discipline and consequence gets served. You enter. Eyes that sit in rows turn to pierce you, slashing through your last portion of confidence. Faces that show pitty and sympathy, friendly faces that should bring you recognition and comfort. Walls pile back up, guards stand armed, as you take your seat in the front, eyes scraping along the floor, your gaze drilling a hole. Sitting in the one place that should give you hope, a chance for justice, the one place that will ease your frustration, your hurt, your anger. That has been being built up inside you, that feeling like someone is stacking bricks, one by one, piling them on. He sits behind the stand, facing you, scowling, twitching, unforgiving, his hands restrained by the metal cuffs. The anger and hate, boils inside you like a volcano about to erupt. There sits the man that took everything from you and left you in this situation. ‘Bang’. The sound of the hammer on the stand and just like that, court is adjourned.