Waiting - 500 words story competition

I wasn't sure what category this would fall into - so I put it in Realism. Note, this is for a 500 words story which is not on Movellas, but you can enter by searching 500 words 2013. I would be grateful of any feedback before I enter it.

Leighlah is a girl tired of waiting around for things to be done. She has a miserable, direction-less life which she hates more than anything. This is her story of letting go of the past and embracing the easiest way out of her problems.

*Please show your support, as this will be entered in a competition I wrote it for. It's exactly 500 words, if you were wondering.*

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1. Chapter One

Waiting. This is all life's about, isn't it? You're always hanging around for something, whether it's the ball to come down, the dinner to cook, your hair to grow or for Friday to come. You mope and moan and complain while you wait, then you regret you ever wished for it and cry bitterly. Well, I'm sick of waiting and watching the world go by. I'm tired of waiting for a better life, tired of waiting for the bullies to move on, and bored of all the instructions, the talking and the people. I'm sick of waiting for them to go. I'm sick of waiting for them to fall silent. I'm sick of waiting for other people to do things which are never going to happen. For the first time in my miserable life, I'm going to stop waiting. I'm going to take action.

 

"Leighlah, stop that right now!" I can see Mum's face, all pinched and stressed, floating in front of my eyes. I'm six, and my brother and I are fighting over the last chocolate bar. My brother, Harry, is punching and biting me, but he's sly about it, so Mum never spots him doing anything bad. It's always me, Leighlah, the troublemaker, the one who's punished just because I'm the bad girl and there's no-one else to blame. I wish I could have shown Mum that I was good really, before she died of cancer when I was nine, leaving me shell-shocked and clueless.

 

"Leighlah, go and stand outside!" Mrs Barns, my primary teacher, is the next to come. Her plain, square-jawed face is contorted with rage, her finger pointing a path towards the corridor. Hanging my head in shame, I trudge out the door to a chorus of laughs and jeers. She turns back to the rest of the class, amok with whispers, calming them down and continuing the lesson. I peep round the door frame, red faced and bloodshot, to observe. 

 

The last person to flicker underneath my eyelids is Brittany, the high school bully. She had everything that I didn't; blonde hair, blue eyes, masses of friends, the most popular jock as her boyfriend and tons of money. I remember every time she pushed me around, called me names, hit me 'til I screamed and humiliated me publically. She hated me, but then so did I.

 

This is it. I've let go of my past, reading to move on from the waiting. I open my eyes and look down. The view knocks the breath from my lungs. I'm standing on the edge of London Bridge, the churning, seething black waters below. I feel the wind buffet my hair around my face, the sun burn my skin, but I don't care. It's all going to end soon. So suddenly, I'm jumping through the air, and falling fast. I've landed, and the waves are dragging me under, my body like a lifeless ragdoll. I'm fighting through the water, with no way out. I'm drowning.

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