Oneword: Squint.

It was bitter cold out. The kind that eats at your fingers, chomps at your knuckles. The rain fell, mixed with snow, engulfing the city in slush. Without the sun it was hard to see what was coming in front of me. All I knew was that there were four more lights to go before I was to turn right. My knees were protesting every step of the way, but I was late. Very late.

He wanted me to stay longer. Tempted me with a quick homemade dinner. Grilled chicken on his city patio barbecue with a side of baked potatoes and corn on the cob. A bottle of red wine between the two of us in his cozy living room, his puppy by my side.

He wanted me to stay a little longer. Puppy on the floor, his body resting on top of mine. Hands up my untucked blouse. Lips enfolding mine. Legs around his waist and I stayed too long.

My cellphone rang and I had to go. I would call.

A car honked right before I crossed the street. I couldn't see a thing.

After the fourth light, I turned down my street, sloshing through the walkway to the house. I squinted against the drops that were sticking to my cheeks before gravity made them drip down. I could see you standing there. The door was half open, you were waiting since you called. Your jacket was already on and you met me halfway down the path. The pit of my stomach began violently turning.

Your eyes were wide, wild. You met me and slapped me hard across the face.

"You little bitch!" Flecks of spit hit my face. My cheek feels like raw flesh.

"You lying, little bitch!" You repeat and I'm stunned.

"You're fucking him! I knew you were fucking him!" You came at me again and slapped the same spot. I was sure I was bleeding.

You grabbed my face, inches away, and I flinched against your grip, "You're fucking done," you spit and push me backward. It hit the ground shaking and shocked and watched you walk down the street, disappearing between a billion drops of sleet.

The words were slow to come out. Molasses sticking to the roof of our mouths.

Baby?

Baby.

Your berry pink fingernails danced around my bellybutton, hand resting right below.

Family.

We were finally going to have one of our own.

Oneword: Whisper.

The darkness made her eyes sore, pressed against them, pushing them backward into her skull. Without sight, her other sense heightened. She could smell the dampness off the walls. It clung to her skin, draped her in the kind of wetness that penetrated to the bone. There was a hint of sewage and sweat tickling the back of her throat, toying with her stomach and gag reflexes.

She could hear every bug crawling around her, every leg movement and mating sound. Something dropped in the distance, clanking, metal. She called out but her voice was raw, her throat vibrating with low raspy words resembling her grandfathers.

At first she had no idea if she was dead. If she were in a dream. Why had it been so dark? She thrashed about on the concrete floor, screaming, swearing, realizing when she went to stand up that her right leg wouldn't move. A sharp pain shot through her lower body causing her to violently twitch in agony. What the fuck happened to her?

Her fingers groped around the floor. There had to be something she could use to stand up. A chair, possibly to use as a crutch to start walking toward the sound. There was nothing within arms reach. She ignored the lancing pain in her leg and planted her hand about three feet to the left of her. Holding her breath she dragged herself across the rough floor wheezing, crying out. She only had a bit of time before the pain in her leg would take over and make her blackout. She used her left leg to push off the floor but with nothing else to support her she fell ungraciously to the ground, knocking her head on something solid. The sound vibrated all around her and she took a moment to gain back her senses. It sounded like metal. Her fingers felt the air around them until they hit the cool metal she had fell against. A bar. Two bars. Bars lining the length of her arms. A cell. It was a cell, a cage. She had been locked up. Oh God.

"Some one help me, please!" She was frantic.

Hitting the bars with her hands, trying to make as much noise as possible, "Please! Someone! I'm down here!"

The sudden movements made her leg ache and she felt her energy being consumed by the injury. She rested her head against the cool bar, tears draining down her face.

"Someone. Save me," She whispered before her head bounced off the concrete floor.

Oneword: Backlit.

It was not what he expected. The crowds filtering through the narrow streets. The cigarette butts lining the creases of cobblestones. The lights shining off of the still water. In the night, the city took a different feel. A turn for the exotic, the taboo. But it was all so normal in the thick of things. Like if you just simply told people it was okay, then it would magically be.

He watched a small motorboat float on by. The passengers laughing and drinking as if they had no idea what was happening around them.  

He threw is filter into the glowing red water. 

The windows were filled from top to bottom. The first two rows had doors you could climb into if you wanted. He watched every silhouette as he walked by, backlit by hot red lights, tinting their complexions the colour of cinnamon hearts. The girls were sitting, dancing, knocking on the windows, coaxing him to come in.  Makeup, costumes, lingerie, some were already empty. 

He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead deciding to take a turn down the narrow street. It was claustrophobic with bodies and on each side windows lined the path. The girls were so close which was foreign to him. Back home there was an air of foreboding around these types of girls. Look but never touch. Here, though, it was welcomed, encouraged. They wanted your money.

"Hey love, why don't you come on in?" She had caught him staring. Maybe it was the small frame, or the intense eyes, or the black lace. She smiled seductively with her red lips, half outside of her room.

It seemed weird for her to step on the cobblestone. The windows created an alternate universe. Once she broke through the glass barrier she became exotic, fantastical.

She held her hand out, coaxing him to take it. He could just see her nipple through her lace bra.

"Let's go," she said one last time. He let her grab his wrist and pull him inside.

Oneword: Railway.

She threw her empty beer bottle to the gravel as she stood up. It sounded like ten thousand rain pellets hitting a windowpane. He watched her combat boots dig into the ground, her heels sinking most of the way in. She knelt down, connecting her ear to the rail and held her breath. She thought she could hear it coming if everything was quiet enough.

"How long?"

She looked east, down the rail. "Soon."

He didn't believe her. She was full of crack stories. Little wives tales that she lived by.

He took a swing of his Jack Daniels. He was getting antsy. They couldn't stay there forever. Someone would notice the two of them trespassing. See the footage of them scaling the 9 foot fence. Getting caught on the barbed wire. Him tearing up like a bitch.

"Gimme." She was right beside him. Bloody knuckles in his face. They needed to be drunk if they were going to do it right. He shoved the half empty bottle in her hand and pulled out his cigarettes.

"Last two left."

She stared at him for a moment while he searched for his matches. The right knee of his blue jeans caught on the barbed wire and ripped through the flesh. She watched him pour Jack Daniels on it, but it was still oozing blood down his leg. His jeans were ruined.

There was only one match.

He inhaled. Toxic smoke streamed out of his nose and he heard a noise. Her eyes were always better than his, so she spotted it first.

"We better go," she exhaled in clouds. She took a shot, put the bottle on the ground and grabbed his hand.

She was the first the lie down, face to the sky, cigarette in her mouth. He wanted to remember her just like that. Smudged makeup, blue eyes, black bruises, red lipstick, gold dress. He settled beside her, railway for a pillow.

"Ready?" She asked, staring at him.

He kissed her knuckles. "Ready."

Who are we?

We're scared.
We're unstable.
What are we both holding on to when we both seem so fragile?

Confidence.

It's hard to show the world what you're made of when you can't even lift your head to meet them.

Harsh.

Here begins the long-winded mission of starting the rest of my life. Resumes, applications, interviews, lots of rejection and probably ultimately settling for something that can at least pay the bank. Growing up is harder than they make it out to be. After 20 years of school, they throw you to the wolves with a $30 000 piece of paper and a shake of the hand.

What now?

You better find out soon.

After two weeks of traveling around Europe, I am home and it's time for me to grow up. I have no idea where to go and nothing much to get me by.

What am I supposed to do? What do I want to do?

Growing up sucks sometimes. It sucks a lot.