Emily

Emily had always had this habit of chewing cinnamon gum whenever she was feeling anxious. Today wasn’t any different. She was about to leave her home without letting her husband or children know — for yesterday Emily had had enough. Enough of fifty six years of a life always lived for somebody else but her, never the time and space of her own. It had been enough. Not a single minute more. For two years this idea of vanishing had been kept sizzling at back of her mind, to run away from everything — let them think that she’s dead, that she’s been murdered, who cares.

She bought in secret a train ticket that would take her to Spain where she would hop into a ferry to Morocco where she would vanish and she would never be found. The alluring idea of running away to Morocco came to her mind a few months after watching for the first time Casablanca. Not because of the film, but simply because she found the idea of Morocco strangely romantic, reminding her to the scent of cinnamon. There was something strangely familiar in the country that she felt pleasant.

Facing towards the door Emily placed the hand on the door knob. In the silence of her house Emily could only hear the sound of her racing heart. “YOU CAN DO IT!” she shout as she opened the door.

Emily was never seen again.

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