But then and there it happened. My release of this cramped hell got up off the seat and pulled the tattered string that ran the length of the roof. He was such an ugly sight, but if I wasn’t trying to save my skin, I could have kissed him.

The seedy pervert sitting behind the couple got up. He stretched his legs and walked towards the back doors. They slid open, and he stepped off the bus without a thankyou or a nod. Then it was my chance.

I leapt off the seat in one smooth move, and crashed into the hard, black floor. I tried not to make much of a scene, but it was obvious I was exiting. I leapt off the floor of the bus and onto the footpath below. My ankles took so much pressure, I thought that they would snap, or crumble into a heap of bones and flesh.

But they didn’t. Luck was on my side this night.

The driver seemed not to notice, but it was obvious that he had.

“Pay your way next time,” he called back to me, “it’ll be easier on your legs!” he laughed as the bus drove off, and his weird laugh chilled me more than cold around me outside.

I stood there on the rain sodden footpath for what seemed like an age. The raindrops and puddles stretched across the road reflected the harsh, bright lights of the streetlights surrounding me, and began to create blurs in my eyes. My hands swam in front of me, and I felt my stomach hurl. My hand bled profusely, and around me a massive puddle of blood was mixed with the rain. I was exhausted, every morsel of energy had been sapped of my body, and I didn’t care about the oncoming rain, or the chilling temperature.

I had made it. I had survived the Marconi Brothers, and I had avenged dear Daisy. I experienced a peacefulness that Daisy never had. She was killed in cold blood, a slash to her neck and she was gone. Like that, abolished. Suddenly the events of the past swam into my vision too, and I couldn’t decide what was real and what was a memory. The past was mixed with the present, and I felt more sick, more nauseous.

The memory of Daisy, with her pristine brown coat, her shaggy mane and her thoroughbred brilliance. The memory of her amazing wins, and the smile on my face and Dads. The memory of the Marconi Brothers, vengeful, all because of our Daisy and her grace, her skill. The memory of the huge window which I had smashed, just to avenge her death on the soul of an executioner, and the knife which lashed out at my side. The memory of her slaughter, and the man I had stabbed in anger. The memory of Daisy, whom I would always remember, killed in cold blood and jealousy.

But I was different. I hadn’t let the Marconi Brothers kill again. I was one of the few who had survived their evil grasp. I had prevented them from the blood they would have on their well manicured hands and their fine overcoats.

But it had taken its toll. I was weak. The blood from my hands and side had been flowing freely for too long. It was then that I knew. I was dying, and there was nothing I could do. I hardly felt my body smash the ground, but I saw my blood around me, wet, sticky and exposed. My hand fell away from my chest, revealing the ugly stab wound, and my heart throbbed its last beats. I closed my eyes, and my lungs seized up, fountaining blood from my mouth onto my face.

I had escaped through the bloody night. Now it had come time to rest.

But it was all in Memory of Daisy.