I never saw the world the way the city looks to me today; I never thought the end would come this way. These are the last words I'll say to you.

Wincing against the wind, I zipped up my coat as far as it would go and reached into the deep pockets. The fingers of my right hand wrapped around my trusty mobile phone, which I slid out. Quick swipe across the screen and a number tapped in, and I had everything at my fingertips.

Two missed calls, four text messages. Another few taps and I knew that my mother had tried calling me once, my father once, and the four messages were from my friend Zaz. I sighed, switched off my phone, and put it back in my pocket. I replaced it with a small scrap of pink lined paper screwed up in the depths of my pocket. I unwrapped it and squinted at the messily scrawled address as I walked.

 No. 6 College Street, Tywyllwch, I managed to make out.

 I glanced upwards. I was on a row of three storey houses, each with their own small front garden. They were pleasant enough houses, and I was currently stood outside number 4. Dragging my feet, I continued to the next house. Number 6.

 This was my new home for the year, in the small, rural town of Tywyllwch in mid-Wales. I was a fresher at the town’s university, Tywyllwch’s only claim to fame. And it wasn’t a bad house, either – maybe a little scruffier than the two sat on either side of it, and the windows were empty, the curtains closed, but the garden was neatly kept and the paint on the gate wasn’t peeling.

 I lifted the latch on the gate. It squawked as I pushed it open and stepped into the garden.

 Before I could start walking, the front door opened. A girl stepped out. “Well, yeah, fuck off, Harry,” she snapped into her mobile phone. She was tiny, this girl, probably not even five feet, but she packed a lot of curve into her short frame. Her hair was dark, to her shoulders, and her face was screwed up in anger. There was a cigarette, unlit, hanging from between her lips.

 “It’s not my problem you’re being an absolute wanker, though, is it?” she carried on, voice harsh. She nodded at me, left the door wide open, and rooted in the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a neon-pink lighter. “When you’re being like this, I can’t fucking talk to you. Tell you what, grow the fuck up and give me a call when the weed is out of your system, yeah?”

Then she hung up and slid her phone into her pocket, lit her cigarette. Narrowed her eyes at me.

 “Hey,” she said, not too welcoming. “You renting here?”

 I nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t got a key, though.”

 She shrugged one shoulder. “The landlord let me in before. He left them all. You’ve met him, right? I’m Nicki, by the way.”

 “Axie,” I said. “Shall I just go in?”

 ehhhhh something i've been working on. hmmmmmm

 

Lyrics: last words / the real tuesday weld