Silence. No cars, no people, no voices. It's just the fog that screams so loud in her head. It's punching, kicking and riping everything inside of her, the cold wind runs through her weak body, taking every piece of the love she has. In front of her, the street is ranging, long and barren. It is silence that's screaming around her, telling her something she can't understand. Her long, black hair is hovering in the air, wild and irrepressible. It's slashing her face and it's sore. Her cheeks, white like a snow, are slowly turning to red. Her eyes are wet and warm diemonds fall from them. She just can't stop them. Her white, rawboned, slim hands are in the pockets of her brown, thin coat and they are still cold as ice.
She walks through the street, slowly, making small steps. The way under her is wet because just half an hour ago it was raining. Shiny pearls of water on the ground still didn't dry and they are shining under the golden lights of street lamps. Carrie could literaly see the cold wind moving through the golden way of street lamp light, so she brandished with her hand through the air and particles of cold air spaced, pushed by her thin hand. She sighted, deep, and felt the cold air going down her neck. Suddenly, she felt free; she felt like she could do everything she wants and no one could judge, or stop her. She spread her hands out and spined. It feels so great to be free, she thought and smiled. So great.
In this moment, she didn't know was she happy or sad, free under the great dark sky or just cought in one more trap of this mean, cruel world. She didn't know what she feels like. What was she supposed to feel? Weird? Alone, maybe? But she didn't feel alone. She felt like the whole world was hers and, although there was nobody around her, she felt impregnate. On the other hand, sometimes she would feel so alone although she would be enslaved in a crowd – because no person from that crowd wouldn't feel like her. But here, on the empty street, surrounded by trees and grass and the big heaven above her, she felt like someone really understood her. She wasn't the only one, as usuall, who feels that way. Something out there, the air, maybe, knew what she felt and felt just the same way. And she liked it; she liked beeing understood.
Most of people from the other world, from the world that wasn't Carries, would say that she lost her mind. But she knew she was completely normal. All she's done was that she created her own world, paralel with the other, cruel world, so that she doesn't have to see and listen all those mean, bad things. In her world, everything was perfect. She was free. Nobody could order her something, she had to listen nobody but herself. And that was just the way she liked it. That's why she couldn't understand what's wrong with it, why are everybody beeing so judgemental about it. What's wrong about living the way you want, in a world that you created? In a good world, without fighting and such things? It was just she that lived in that world and she felt good about it. She never felt alone. She would just wish never to return to that other world, but sometimes she was pushed to it. Those were the times she felt unhappy, unsafe.
Now, as she was walking down the long, empty street, she was the happiest. She was in her world; good, undisturbed world. She wished never to go back there, where she didn't want to. And this time, she knew she never will.
The cold wind blowed stronger and stronger and her body was getting weaker and weaker. This time, she was weaker than ever before, and the wind was much stronger than she. It got cold inside her body. Her heart was beating slowly, pumping cold blood into her veins. The silence around her got too loud; she couldn't listen to it anymore, so she put her hands over her face and ears. She fell down on the rough concrete covered by the big, great, hard stones; she was on her knees. As the tears were falling down her face and smashing on the hard, cold stones, suddenly, the wind blew right through her heart. She fell on the ground, hit her head and the blood started pouring. And there she was: lost in the clemency of her great world, dreaming something nice and ultimately happy – and dead. Like she wanted, she never returned to the other world she hated.
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