The Girl Who Ran Away The evening light danced on the bobbing sea, it's shore deserted and haunted. The waves sang a little tune, and the wind played for it, no ears to their music, no eyes to their beauty. The silence remained beautiful and undisturbed. But a little far away, atop a little hill, stood a tall tower. Dark and stern, it wasn't as beautiful as the beach. The door creaked when it opened, and the windows rattled in the slightest breeze. Inside, it was freezing cold, and even with every fire lit in the house, the cold sent shivers down your back. In a room in the coldest and darkest parts of the house, a girl of about fifteen sat on an upturned wooden box. She had dirty red hair and eyes bluer than the sea. Dirty tracks in her face showed that she had been crying, and dark circles under her eyes said she hadn't been able to sleep. Her hands clutched the blankets hard, and the pillow beside her feet was stained with mascara. This little girl was Annie Watson. The daughter of a rich businessman and model. She was filthy rich, and all her girls like her wore gowns and attended parties. While everyone else was dainty and flattering, she was brave and straightforward. Her parents didn’t approve of this, and wanted to send her to an expensive all-girls school where they were taught to be so-called ladies. It would’ve been fine if they just WANTED to send her, but they acted like it was a matter of life and death. Annie, of course, didn’t want to be forced into an expensive school. To be locked up in the same building with ‘ladies’ would be hell for her. But no amount of begging or promises would convince Mr. and Mrs. Watson to let her continue studying at home. It wasn’t easy for someone like Annie, so she locked herself up in her room and spent all of the previous night crying, dreading the long months to come before summer break. She looked out the window at the beach she never got to visit. The evening light bathed her room, illuminating her features. Her blue eyes shimmered just like the sea she longed to reach. A horrible thought struck her mind. What if she ran away? Horrible as it was, it set off a spark of adventure in her young heart. That heart went ‘thump, thump, thump’ against her ribs, and her eyes shone like they’ve never shone before. She grabbed her phone and a few clothes and stuffed them into her red backpack. She shrugged the bag on and opened the window. The breeze ran through her hair and her body rushed with excitement. Freedom. She finally got freedom. She glanced back at her room for the last time, and she felt a pang of guilt. Wasn’t it wrong to feel free when she was leaving her parents, who had raised her with patience for sixteen years? But she couldn’t just turn back… There was a whole world to see out there, and she couldn’t just let this opportunity go…
She took a notebook from her desk and scribbled a note in it. Ripping the page and pinning it onto her dart board with a dart, she turned and ignored another pang: the pain of leaving the place she had grown up in, the pain of leaving the parents she loved, the pain of everything coming back to her… She heard her mother’s voice: “Annie Elizabeth Watson! What in the name of lord is this?”. She had made that remark every time she bought something on her own, and she would never hear her mother say that again. She turned her back to her room and stepped on the window sill. Luckily for her, an old ladder was leaning against the wall next to her window, so if she went cautiously, she could make it safely to the bottom. She tested her weight on the top rung, just in case. It held her alright. By now, it was dark. A full moon shone in the sky, making everything look eerie and beautiful. The trees danced in the breeze and she could hear the ‘splash, splash, splash’ of the sea in the distance. The ladder felt rusty and cold underneath her fingers, and her heart pounded in her chest so hard that it was a miracle that it hadn’t burst right through her chest by now. But at this moment, everything was a miracle. The ladder she was slowly going down was a miracle. The moon, the breeze, the trees. Everything tonight will be a miracle. Annie’s bare feet touched the cool grass, and a shiver ran through her. She turned to face the rustling trees, and her sharp and well-trained eyes spotted a path through the forest. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she burst into the forest, running along the path. The cold air whistled in her ears, creating a sort of music with the thumping of her heart. Her feet walked swiftly on the sharp rocks, and her red hair streamed behind her. Her sea-blue eyes glinted in the moonlight, and her face shone with excitement. Her feet felt soft sand beneath them, and she flopped down on the beach. The waves crashed against a rock, and the wind helped it. The melody was still playing, as if they had been playing for Annie all this time. The moonlight made the waves glint in a beautiful way, and there wasn’t any sign of people for miles around. Annie took gulps of the salty air as if she had never breathed before. She took in the beauty of the beach, and let the breeze play with her hair. She pushed herself forwards with her arms and padded the water with her feet. The cool water removed the pain and soothed it. She got up and waded into the water, the water dancing around her. She was waist deep in the water before she got on her front and pushed herself forwards into the sea. That was the biggest mistake she ever made. Her clothes weighed her down, and she began to panic. She pushed herself up with her arms and legs but with no results. She made one last effort with her arms which sent her spinning towards the rock. Spluttering, she held out her arms and pushed herself from the rock. She rocketed backwards and landed with a hard bump on the sand. She lay there on her back, catching her breath and calming her racing heart. She sat up, a soft smile on her lips. She got back onto her feet and slung her bag over her shoulder. She set on forward through another path. Ready to see the world. Ready to live. Ready to be The Girl Who Ran Away.
