Strength

The woeful sky above danced with the sound of thunder as Ava walked down a dim city street with a cold, bright red umbrella in her warm hands. She enjoyed the tranquility of the rain above her as it landed harshly on her umbrella. The sound of the rain was the only thing that calmed Ava’s anger and her hot-headed personality. She thought of the rain as her shield, a protector, a parent of some sort, something Ava had never had in her life. It was such a splendid thing to see–how the harsh rain of November could calm such a soul as wild soul as hers.

A chilling, gentle breeze glided across her face, producing goosebumps down her back, and she gripped her umbrella a bit more tighter than before. Ava secretly wished that the wind would brush her away from the city and her problems. How simple life would be. Or maybe the rain could just wash her away into the bay. If it wasn’t for Ava’s stubborn personality, she would have already run away and accepted her fate, but she was a fighter, a soldier with so many war wounds.

The shrill sounds of the city engulfed Ava: the police sirens, the people chattering about, the far-off sound of the late train on this very rainy night. You see, the city buildings weren’t the only things that were looming over Ava; she had a feeling of longing, a hankering to disappear just for a day. A vacation away from her life, if you will.

Once she planned to go through with something, she would fight until the very end. Giving up wasn’t in this tortured soul’s vocabulary. Not a single page in the book which was her life said “I shall give up,” and it never would. Ever. Ava had to act tough. She had to act strong when she really wanted to cry a thousands tears into her hospital pillow, every single day of her life. She felt many times that giving up would be so much easier on her mental state. Couldn’t she just be selfish? One time, was all she asked herself a lot when she lay awake at night. She wouldn’t give up, though, ‘cause it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her personality to just throw up the white flag. She would fight the disease that was running through her veins–she just had to hold on a bit longer. 

That Ava was indeed headstrong was without a doubt. She was willful to the point of not wanting to admit that she was secretly holding hope in her cold hands. She was walking on the chilling path with the sheer need to survive. That was all she knew. Wasn’t that all anyone needed to know? To step forward? To keep moving forward and fight? 

After all, life is a battleground and we are the warriors.