Oh Zoe

16 | THE WORST KIND OF SOLITUDE

The tears of the sky poured down with such force that Zoe thought she might bruise from it. She was soaked from head to toe and as cold as anyone in the Antarctic without warm clothes.

Not a single soul had come since the rain had started an hour ago. Zoe was curled even tighter around herself, shivering so vigorously that she almost fell from the bench seat more than once.

Panic and fear had mixed in her bloodstream like a bad alchemy, stirring her with unwanted emotions and thoughts. No one was going to find her. No one.

Thunder crackled venously overhead and Zoe jumped off the seat in fright. Zoe had never minded storms, but standing directly under one without the protection of a shelter was different.

Her spiralling tears merged with the rain streaming down her cheeks and her sobs were soon drowned out by the roaring thunder overhead. Nobody would want to visit a community garden in a storm like this.

A mighty breath of wind curled Zoe's hair wildly around her face. Shivers raked her little body as the temperature continued to drop exceedingly quickly.

She had to do something. She had to find somewhere to stay dry, yet she was already wet. She had to go home, yet she didn't know the way.

Zoe pulled her legs tighter to her chest and cried harder into her bony knees.

When mucus had clogged up her nostrils enough to prevent breathing easily through them, Zoe looked up to wipe her snotty nose with the back of her sleeve.

Just in that moment, Zoe swore she could see the outline of a figure jogging toward her through a curtain of heavy rain. She tried swiping away the tears to get a clearer look but the rain was obscuring too much for her to identify them.

As they got closer, Zoe could see they were the size of an adult. Broad shoulders sculptured the torso and they were graced by thick trunk arms and legs; male. Maybe he would help her?

When the figure turned left just before entering the opening where she sat, Zoe did nothing but watch. She did not call out for help or directions. She did not approach him to ask guidance or even see who it was.

Feverishness overtook Zoe's body as she gazed at the spot where he had tirelessly jogged. In Zoe's mind, she reasoned that she didn't need help; she would wait for the storm to pass and then keep up her walk home. In reality, Zoe had been too scared to talk to the stranger, even if she was desperate.

Lightning splintered the ground to close to Zoe for her to not shriek in absolute terror. Her throat was as dry and sore as when she had an attack, and that made Zoe realise she didn't have her inhaler. And with just her luck, storms intensified her asthma by ten.

Zoe was now regretting not confronting the stranger before. What if she did have an attack now? They'd be no one the coach her through it, just someone to find her body.

An idea popped into her head like a switch had suddenly been turned. If she screamed and screamed and screamed, someone would find her and they could help her get home.

Eventually, after putting it off for as long as she could withstand, Zoe began to screech, her lungs puffing out all the oxygen she had. She knew this method would probably conjure an asthma fit, but that was something she dealt with daily and it could mean the end of her madness.

When Zoe's throat became so scratched and faulty that she could no longer make a sound, she stopped. It was now painful to make a sound or take a breath and her breathing was becoming increasingly irregular and laboured.