Creative Writing: Prison

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My heeled boots clicked rhythmically, echoing through the alleyway. The rusted streetlamps flickered dimly as I walked past them. Garbage and shattered glass bottles littered the narrow road, and there was a “lost cat” sign just barely hanging on the wall. Above the aged buildings around me, I caught sight of the CN Tower, its neon lights piercing through the night. The full moon glowed its golden-gray hues, while specks of stars dotted the night sky. I shivered as a breeze blew back my wavy strands of chestnut-brown hair. Wool tickled my skin as I pulled my scarf closer to my neck. Nearing the end of the alley, I spotted my white Audi, still parked the Italian restaurant where I had left it. Its bright white colour stood out in the darkness. I riffled through my purse, reaching for my car keys. My thumb rested on the unlock button, but something made me pause. …show more content…

I exhaled. Someone’s just taking a jog, I thought. But each time night fell, every noise seemed to alarm me. My father always seemed to be behind me, watching me. I often wondered if one day I would, like him, be driven insane, deemed psychotic, violent, dangerous, in prison.
My thoughts clouded as I pushed them away, refocusing on reality. Two clicks were emitted from my car as I unlocked it. Pulling the door open, I stepped inside and tossed my bag into the backseat. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light in my car, I wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel, feet hovering above the pedals. My surroundings all of a sudden seemed ominously quiet.
Something wasn’t

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