Darla

This is in response to my own prompt. The pics below were the inspiration and the prompt title was “Darla”

Prompt Here!

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Darla was born in that timeless perineum of vague uncertainty and half eaten boxes of chocolates that occupies the days between Christmas eve and New years day. A place where time marches to the unfathomable beat of a dozen drunken drummers all attempting to play synchronised opening beats to Phil Collins’ ‘In the air tonight’ whilst being chased by killer clowns demanding they hurry up and get to the good bit.

As a large proportion of the world lurched between one bout of searing indigestion to the next, Darla came screaming into the world, perfectly pink and with a dark shock of hair that her mother claimed was surely from the gods, as she herself was blonde. The midwife’s suggestions that it was surely on the father’s side were dismissed out of hand as Darla’s mother insisted to the contrary as there was the small matter of an unwavering assertion that she had never slept with anyone to allow her to conceive. But who is going to listen to a teen mother with a tendency towards tie dye and tarot? No one, that is how many. Precisely no one at all.

And it was with that unwavering belief in her divine conception that Darla grew up. It did not make for easy friendships, whether she professed her beliefs from the rood tops or whispered it in darker corners was irrelevant, it simply followed her without the need for any effort on her part. As they bobbed along on the ebb and flow of life their past was impossible to completely leave behind, regardless of which small town they were soon packing up from or washing ashore on.

And it was in one of those small towns, which shall remain nameless as it is of interest to only for those flotsam and jetsam of humanity who found themselves floundered there, that Darla found herself when the end came. Or perhaps, when the end came for her.

In those final moments, most things burned and many other things collapsed. A third lot of things exploded into a sparkling cascade of death whilst everything not in categories one, two or three tended to whimper into oblivion with scant resistance. Had it not been so terrifying and cataclysmic it might have even been beautiful.

Darla took a deep breath and pulled her satchel across her shoulder. The skies crackled and spat like embers whipped by the wind, and she thought about her mother, and the stories of how she came from the gods. It had all been too much for mum, and she wouldn’t miss this place or these people.

It was time to leave, they would be here for her soon.

Dad was on his way…