Post by ayla on Jul 13, 2009 15:32:05 GMT -5
As normally, the streets of Stuttgart were crowded by people of all different kinds, all trying to literally push their way through in a desperate attempt to reach a desired destination. The small stones that were supposed to resemble some kind of sidewalk were uneven and positioned in obvious relief, which made it even harder to walk on a road such as this. The buildings were tall and old. For tourists, this was like a real-life museum, but to normal citizens, or at least for this one little girl, the height of the statues made it look more like a claustrophobic cage. The simple fact that every time she brushed shoulders with another stranger, it felt like she was crushed into a small, thin pencil didn’t add much positive details to this part of the city either. No, Ayla would much rather be somewhere else. Or even better, nowhere at all.
With that one dream, if it could even be considered a true dream, the young girl pulled herself together, held both hands firmly into the pockets of her leather jacket, spread her elbows slightly for extra support in the crowd, and fought her way through the incredible mass of people. It was already about four o’clock, she guessed, and still the streets were like a coffee-shop in frikkin’ Amsterdam. Ayla sighed in frustration and lifted a nearly numb hand to brush back her mousy brown mess of curls. Only a little more to go, and she was released from this prison. But where was she then, was that so much better? No. But she’d at least have some kind of roof above her head.
Quickly, once she got the chance, she sneaked out through a petite opening she managed to squeeze herself in and rushed into the nearest ally. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, the frustration, the feeling of being a fucking laying hen. This was better, no matter that the amount of space was limited here as well. It was out of the sun, less noisy, and calm. And that was exactly what she could use at the moment. With a deep sigh, she unzipped her jacket, revealing the pink shirt with slight cleavage underneath. The young girl spread her arms, almost symbolically, though only to let the wind catch her jacket and long hair. Freedom! Well, not exactly freedom, but... There was no exact word for it.
With that one dream, if it could even be considered a true dream, the young girl pulled herself together, held both hands firmly into the pockets of her leather jacket, spread her elbows slightly for extra support in the crowd, and fought her way through the incredible mass of people. It was already about four o’clock, she guessed, and still the streets were like a coffee-shop in frikkin’ Amsterdam. Ayla sighed in frustration and lifted a nearly numb hand to brush back her mousy brown mess of curls. Only a little more to go, and she was released from this prison. But where was she then, was that so much better? No. But she’d at least have some kind of roof above her head.
Quickly, once she got the chance, she sneaked out through a petite opening she managed to squeeze herself in and rushed into the nearest ally. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, the frustration, the feeling of being a fucking laying hen. This was better, no matter that the amount of space was limited here as well. It was out of the sun, less noisy, and calm. And that was exactly what she could use at the moment. With a deep sigh, she unzipped her jacket, revealing the pink shirt with slight cleavage underneath. The young girl spread her arms, almost symbolically, though only to let the wind catch her jacket and long hair. Freedom! Well, not exactly freedom, but... There was no exact word for it.