The teenage boy, dressed entirely in black except for the baby blue laces on his trainers to go with his striking eyes, slowly dragged his feet over to the edge of the wooden bridge. A few seconds was all it took to let the landscape become inprinted in his brain, as he's been here many times before. It would have been to spend some time alone after having a particularly hard day at school or after being yelled at or beaten up by his dad, but he could never hate this place despite the reasons why he would come up here. The view was simply too beautiful; the trees towering over the colourful flowers, the lush green grass on the banks of the river, the river itself making a calming gargling noise as it swept up pebbles and dirt from the bed and the banks of the channel that the river had carved.
It was the perfect place to end his life.
My fingers tapped against the keyboard, struggling to keep up with the pace of the words I mumble under my breath: the words they need to get onto the computer. Having no other job is quite easy and quite difficult, for although my books tend to sell pretty well and I get enough money to live off, it does mean I have to work my arse off to get that money. People tell me that it'll get easier as I become more skilled at writing, but I have a long way to go. I do fairly well, but I'm no J.K. Rowling.
Normally I'm writing for hours on end until the early hours of the morning where I drag myself to bed, wake up at midday, read a book or call my friend Hollie, then write. Yes, it's a fairly lonely existence for most people, but to me it's pretty much bliss, as I'm awkward around everyone apart from Hollie. However, today is a little different - well, for me anyway - and that was the fact that the doorbell rung at around 2am.
Who would be up at this time of night? I wondered, before rolling my eyes. Of course: Leon Marks. Also known as my ex boyfriend, the one who kept of slagging me off because I was a little different to everyone else. He told me that my choice in clothes were weird (my clothes are mainly red and blue. It's a weird OCD thing), that my choice in music was terrible (I hate mainstream stuff, prefering to listen to old Britpop), and that I was a freak. To be honest I'd rather he'd dumped me, got up in front of the entire school and announce how much of a dickhead I was that put up with it, so after a few months I dumped him, only to have him follow me around like a puppy asking me if I could take him back.
"Cherry, it's raining, hurry up and open the fucking door!" A voice called from behind the door, barely audible over the rain so I couldn't tell if it were a man or a woman, let alone who the voice belonged to. As I was expecting Leon to force his lips onto mine as soon as I opened the door, I walked slowly over to the door, dragging my feet like the teenage boy dressed in black did in my story.
It was only a few metres to the door from my computer where I worked, but I managed to take a few minutes until I reached the door thanks to inventing excuses not to turn the handle, such as washing up.
Rubbing my tanned arms is something I do when I'm nervous, and I'm definitely becoming more nervous by the second as fists from outside pound at the door. The voice is swearing quite a bit now, but the rain is quickly turning into a thunderstorm and I still can't tell who it is. "OK, OK, I'm coming," I yell, giving in, only to curse myself for saying that I was going to open the door.
I turn the doorknob and swing the door open, expecting rough lips to crash into mine.
Nothing.
I continue to stare a the eyes in front of me - baby blue like the colour of the eyes of the character in my story. They aren't Leon's deep brown eyes, but I'm still not a huge fan of the person who owns the baby blues'.