First Flight

First Flight
Her hand shook as she reached for the telephone. The light that crept
in between the slatted blinds across the window served only to cast
shadows across her face. Black shapes manifested themselves upon her
prominent cheekbones and travelled slowly across her gaunt face towards
her deadened eyes. There was not much light perpetrating the blinds,
the day outside was grey. The sky was a nondescript shade of grey that
masked the sun and hid the magnificent blue sky that usually graced
Devonshire. The overcast clouds hung low across the land, clinging
grimly onto the barely discernable horizon. The sun should have been at
it's highest in the sky, yet it was missing from this bland day. There
was a chill in the air, though there was no wind to accompany it, the
trees barely stirred, their branches staying stationary against what
little wind there was.
Julia withdrew her shaking hand from the vague vicinity of the phone
and sat down upon the bed. She needed more time. Her breathing came in
short, sporadic bursts, desparately gasping at the cheap air of the
hotel room. Her chest felt tight against her expanding lungs, as though
her rib cage was being slowly pressed inwards. She clutched at the
bottle of vodka that lay beside the phone. A deep draught burned it's
way down her throat. The constricting pain in her chest slowly
allieviated and a warm sensation spread slowly through her gut. Her
breathing returned to normal as she placed the bottle back on the
table, with the exaggerated careful motions of a drunk. Her eyes stared
vacantly at the half-empty bottle. Her body was rigid and bolt upright
on the side of the bed, her legs folded underneath the wire frame on
which she had so precariously perched herself. She sat on not more than
two square inches of the bed, her entire body seeming to sit in a
locked sitting position in mid-air. Her brown, curly hair was knotted
and matted with neglect, two ringlets hanging listlessly from the tight
bun on top of her head. They dangled in front of her lifeless eyes,
there was no recognition of their presence; she did not blink or push
them away, merely let them hang in front of her eyes. Her eyes were
green in colour, a wonderful translucent green that had taken on a
vacant sheen from the alcohol. They had lost their magnificence,
clouded over like the day outside. They stared in front, taking in
nothing about the cheap hotel room, they could have been staring at the
crown jewels and still their precious glint would not have
returned.
The hotel room was functional, yet sparse. The bare wooden floorboards
were cold and unforgiving in the cold light that came in from between
the worn, slatted blinds. A wooden chair sat in the corner next to the
door, underneath a collection of notices that informed the occupant of
the room of the course of action in the event of a fire. Julia would
have continued to sit there if the room had gone up in flames. Even if
the entire building was burning around her like that gates of hell, she
would not have moved from that thin mattress that lay atop the twisted
wire frame of the bed.
She turned slightly now to stare at the phone, her hands fumbled over
each other in her lap, the knuckles white as they passed over one and
other. The room was eerily quiet. The phone lay silent, taunting her.
Yet her hands stayed in her lap. She wasn't ready yet. The white
knuckles gripped onto the bottle of vodka and some of the potent
alcohol dripped down her chin as she took a gulp. Her hands returned to
her lap, they shook violently as they touched.
A bird chirruped outside, breaking the deathly silence. The tree it sat
upon was almost leave-less, silhoutted against the grey sky. It was a
tiny bird, shivering as it emerged from it's nest for the first time
into the harsh, colourless light of day. It's mother watched it as it
walked unsteadily along the branch, critically assessing it's every
movement as it warily moved one tiny foot in front of the other. It
reached the end of the branch. The mother chirruped angrily by its
side. Yet it did not take off. It hung back from taking the leap.
Julia's hand had crept once more towards the phone, yet it stopped
there, levitating in mid-air just above the receiver. Her other hand
grimly clutched her knee, clawing at the hollow knee-cap. Her face was
impassive and blank. The pursed lips had disappeared into thin, terse
lines. They merged with the white skin of her face and created an
expressionless whole, with two faded pearls of green where her eyes
should be. She knew she had to break free. Yet she could not lift that
telephone.
Her entire body shook. She felt her body slowly swallowing itself;
everything inside was being slowly eroded by the nervous pain, which
caroused through her body, through her veins, pumping through her
arteries. Her blood seemed to run cold as she thought of him. Her body
shook violently as she imagined his face. A sneer spread across his
lips as her hands went up to protect herself.
She took a deep, laboured breath; that shuddered halfway in and
threatened to choke her. She must break free. Her mind screamed against
it and her heart beat a steady protest against her constricting
ribcage, yet she knew she must. Her head throbbed as the vodka span
round her brain. He wasn't a husband to her. For years she'd dutifully
served him, and this was how he repaid her. A tiny voice inside her
brain began to ply her with arguments; 'You love him.' It whispered.
'You need him.' 'No.' she said softly, a wild glint of moisture in her
eyes. 'No!'
Her voice echoed off the walls and down the empty hotel corridor.
No-one came running, there was no worried babble of conversation. Just
silence. Deathly silence. Her right hand reached over and the white
knuckles of her hand gripped the telephone reciever. Her left hand
moved slowly, uncertainly, up towards her temple. There it met a purple
and yellow bruise, which blemished her white skin, like an artist's
first unsightly attempt at painting upon a blank canvas.
Outside the window, through the slatted blinds, the tiny bird stood
still upon the precipice of it's destiny. It's tiny wings stretched and
fluttered nervously as it looked at the great drop from it's perch to
the frosty grass below. It's mother stood patiently behind, waiting for
courage to build in that tiny breast. The same tiny, red breast which
shook with fear against the dismal backdrop of a grey sky.
Julia's hand had relinquished it's grip upon the receiver and sat once
more upon her lap, twitching like an animal in the last throes of a
nightmarish death. She couldn't call him. Couldn't tell him she was
leaving. He would find her, he would come and find her and take her
back. Julia's body began to be racked by shaking, her breaths coming in
short sporadic gulps, her left eyelid twitched nervously at the corner,
contracting away from her lifeless eyeball.
The mother of the tiny bird began to grow impatient as the grey sky
darkened. She began to scold the tiny bird with short, harsh chirrups
that rang through the frosty silence. The tiny bird responded by taking
a step forward, yet it immediately took a step back. The mother gave a
final aggrieved chirrup before resuming her waiting. These things take
time.
Julia unfolded her rigid frame from the wire bed and advanced towards
the slatted blinds. The telephone sat silent on the table beside the
bed. Julia parted the blinds with her right hand, still weakly shaking.
Dull, lifeless eyes stared from between the blinds at the nondescript
sky. The tiny bird gave a chirrup, as though sensing it had an
audience, and the vacant green eyes slowly turned to it's tiny red
breast. It stood still on the branch, looking around at it's
surroundings with short, sharp movements of it's head. It must have
sensed Julia's eyes upon it because suddenly it looked round at it's
mother and puffed out it's tiny red chest. Then it jumped.
It's tiny wings beat frantically at the air, attempting to prevent the
ground from rushing ever closer to the tiny red breast. The divebomb
was accompained by shrill, panicked chirrups of advice from the mother.
At first it looked to be in vain, the tiny wings failing to catch the
air. Yet the tiny bird manfully kept flapping, building up a steady
rhythm, and eventually it weaved it's unsteady way towards the ground
in a less than graceful arc. It landed with the soft thud of an
uncertain first time sky diver. Thereafter the tiny bird went on a
celebratory run around the frosty grass, as it's mother scolded it from
above with a mixture of scorn and pride. The tiny bird then completed
it's maiden flight by returning to it's branch. There it was welcomed
by an affectionate chirrup from it's mother. Julia watched them
together for a moment before turning away. A tight smile spread
painfully across her lips. It was time for her to fly.
She puffed out her chest and the constricting pain across her ribcage
gradually began to subside. Her hands ceased to shake as her mind
became clear. She saw the telephone as if through a tunnel, yet it was
with perfect clarity. She lifted the receiver with her right hand, her
grip steadfast and secure. She took a deep breath and listened for a
moment to the dial tone before proceeding.
The drawer to the bedside cabinet was open. The tone coming from the
phone had changed to the shrill monotone of disconnection. The receiver
lay where it was beside the phone. On the other side of the phone lay
an open, empty bottle of sleeping pills. Beside it stood the bottle of
vodka, barely a dribble left in the bottom. A dark shadow moved through
the slatted blinds, across the thin mattress and onto a set of
prominent cheekbones. Julia had spread her wings, but they were bent
and broken.