Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Once upon a time there was a young girl that arrived in a city with only a rolled up sleeping bag and trinkets that fit into its coiled centre. A toothbrush. A comb. Her gold signet ring. A tattered friendship bracelet, bookmarking an dog-eared copy of Sexing The Cherry. A photograph of her sister in a frame. She wanted an adventure. She wanted to feel the city lights upon her skin. The rattle of the trams vibrate deep in her belly. She wanted to sit in cafes for hours, watching people go by. Imagine their hopes and dreams. Where they were going. But most of all she wanted to escape the everyday torment her father reigned upon her home. So oppressive, it pushed her down hard into the earth that she thought would just swallow her whole. Until one day, she gathered her treasures. The things that would make her smile. The things that could sustain her through the challenging days. She left. No note. No fanfare. No farewell. She had to make the move before the gravity of those oppressive games took hold of her for another day.
Standing on the arrivals platform of the train station, she took a deep breath in and looked around her. People moved brusquely to a destination. Somewhere they knew they were going. Where she was going next, she did not know. Her breath came out in a fast gust of air, her heart and breath racing. Her palms throbbing with adrenaline. She just needs to steady her breath.
Because of that school trip earlier in the year to visit universities, she had an idea of where the station exits were and what was immediately local. And Because of that trip, she lost the will to succeed in life under her father’s roof. “One of those educated arseholes” he called her. “Too good for the likes of our class of people”, he spat in her face. Her lungs became weak and she lost her breath again. A wave of anxiety raced through her like a bullet train. She clung tightly to her sleeping bag.
She could sleep in the Botanic Gardens, but that was harder to guarantee her safety while she slept. She thought through the times she’d seen this situation play out. Movies, interviews, podcasts. Anything where a runaway had survived.Every idea seemed as whacky and crazy as the next. Until finally she relied upon her special set of skills. She knew hot to manipulate men. How to read them. How to bend them to her will. She could block punches and knew how to use a blade. She knew how to make to with any item at hand. A night with a random hookup was suddenly safer than a night on the streets.
In a bar a block away, she talked her way around the bar tender and lied about her age. She chewed through two men she thought looked sadistic. Looked mean. Looked as though they would choke her and bind her and leave her gagging on her own tears. Then a younger man with a camera approached her. He had a bowler cut, heavy eyebrows and a cashmere sweater on. Around his neck was a black box that was easily from the early 1900’s. He said she was exquisite. The way the light kissed her face. He wanted to take her picture. Upstairs. Over a few drinks. She smiled and nodded. Handed him her sleeping bag as she swept up his room key on her middle finger. They walked together to the elevator, his hand around her waist, her hand clutching the key to stick out between the fingers of her closed fist.