v.
The cold wind slams into our faces as we run down the street. The rain falls slow but heavy. The streetlights light the whole way down the street. Stop running. [Don't] look back at the house. The house we have looked at so many times like this before. i know every detail of that house. The alignment of the bricks and the way each charred red block cracks. The angle of the roof. The colour of the flowers in winter. The way the rotting weeds grow up the gate that never shuts. Like it was such a welcoming place. The concrete gnome that was kicked over years before that no one has bothered to pick up. The statue of the tiny carved angel in the front garden, her grey eyes always watching. One of her wings cracked and the rest of her split. Yes, i know that house far too well. We turn and keep walking in the shadows, neither of us speaking. There is nothing worth saying. Eight hundred and ninety.
vi.
We reach the train tracks, her hand still clasped in mine. i can hear her breathing as we start tiptoeing up the steps. We get to the top and look down to the empty tracks. She clenches my hand tighter. Her nails dig into my freezing skin. "It's okay," i whisper. She starts to say something but stops. We both know that spoken words never fit together quite right. Words mean nothing now. We sit down on the decaying wood and paint, so we won't be tempted to jump. Nine hundred and fifty one.
vii.
Our meaningless whispers rise into the darkness, the clouds and stars now responsible for keeping all our secrets. We look up for a star, any star, to wish on. But the clouds are too dark and the rain blurs our vision. We look at our watches for 11:11, but it has long past. We reach one thousand and start counting down.
viii.
"We were crazy and we were free," she tells me, as she lies on the bridge, counting down the seconds until it will be over... Nine hundred and sixty nine.
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