The Road Creative Writing

As I have recently begun progressing though my life with the intent to re-create and re-develop myself into a strong, individual woman; I can never forget the day where it all clicked and my will to survive triggered me to finally take control of my life. The events of that day take place as follows: As I lay heavily on my bed like a lump; I was completely withdrawn from all worldly matters and stripped of my ability to feel or care. Although my physical body was densely set and sunk under heavy blankets on that rainy April afternoon, but my mind was reliving the experience of the night before. The night before was also mildly rainy, but the piercing cold that day was cold enough to turn my skin painfully dry. The hot whips of the freezing

As I looked down, the loud, low rumbling of the giant trucks made me wonder how I would experience a fall from my initial position to the almost invisible pavement of the highway. My smaller than average, petit body would probably smash into one truck then smack onto another vehicle until it splattered on top of a small car and was flung to the grassy side of the highway; bloody and lifeless. When I close my eyes, I could almost taste the tinge of the metallic like flavoured blood. I began walking back and forth on the side of that bridge wondering reckless, indifferent thoughts. Could my drop cause an innocent driver harm? Can my fall potentially create a deathly clash between zooming monster vehicles? I certainly didn't want to hurt anybody. If I died, what would happen? I would be mourned by a few loved ones, wrapped and then buried; slowly ceasing to exist as I decay into the earth. What relevance does my existence have anyways? The alarm starts to beep and I'm back in my bed. It's 2 pm, an hour till my final Math exam worth sixty percent of the course grade. "What's the point? I haven't studied for the final. What does it matter if I fail with a 40 percent or a 0?" I thought in silent

I close my eyes and envision a beautifully colored flask in an empty, large, white room. At first it looks like a mosaic styled decorative flask with its edges comprised of tiny lime green clear glass pieces and the whole inside consisting of electric blue and bright yellow colored pieces. However, when I look closer, it becomes clear that this vase like flask is not built out of tiny beautifully colored glass pieces glued together, but completely damaged and covered in cracks which have water seeping quickly out of them and pouring on to the table and then onto the floor. My eye lids, heavy and sluggish from this metal exhaustion; slowly open to fixate on the bright red 2:20 pm. I turn to stare blankly at the ceiling. As the ticking of the clock became louder in my head, my upper body began to tighten as if something on my chest was increasing in weight and escalating this crushing sensation. It was becoming harder to breath. The ticking of the clock does not stop, nor does time because when I look back at the clock, 3:10 pm flamed