book title

Destiny sat on the hardwood topped granite seating looking at the Nicholson Memorial trying to quieten her mind. Built in 1925 by one of the town’s most ardent philanthropists; Sir Arthur Nicholson after his son was killed in WW1 at Ypres in 1915. The imposing ninety-foot war memorial was the tallest of its kind in Staffordshire, and Destiny found its symbolism, humbling.

She fished in her street-stained rucksack containing all her worldly belongings, grabbed her pouch of Amber Leaf rolling tobacco, loaded a cigarette paper, with baccy and then rolled and lit it.

As she exhaled smoke into the cold morning air, disturbing memories of Gary Turner forcing a knife to her throat on the night they dossed down in the derelict St John the Evangelist Church. The stench of his filthy clothes and putrid breath made her shudder. Bastard thought she could be used to satisfy his fucking needs. But like her stepfather, he was a rapist, and she prayed the cops wouldn’t find out about her threats to end his useless life, which his long-suffering partner Dani witnessed. God forbid she'd keep her mouth shut. Then again, the six-inch slash she'd inflicted on that bitch’s leg with a Stanley blade should be a strong enough warning. Besides, she could grass on that filthy bitch for dealing Monkey Dust for Gary, she thought.

Flicking, the butt of the roll-up into the shrubs behind her, Destiny’s hands trembled as she skimmed through the Bible she’d nicked from Dani. That stupid druggy thought if she agreed with his twisted Monkey Dust bible rants, he’d stay with her.

She looked down at the passage Gary had made Dani, highlight, mirroring his bible like some sick fucking cult:

The story of Dinah recounting a violent incident interpreted as rape that led to a series of tragic events, emphasising the consequences of sexual violence.