He held her just under the surface, the
sunlight still warm on her scalp, the tip of his foot pressing down just above
her forehead. Her body a flailing dance, her arms a thrashing
language…and all she needed was that hand to pull her, instead he kept his arms
for himself and his foot pressing firmer and firmer still on her head.
She was a fighter, but she also knew when to release…so she ended the
pain with a hypnotic trick of breathing that quietly drowned her…her last
vision that of sunlight engulfing his murderous figure.
Submerged and embraced by the murky bottom,
her pale body slowly shifted back to a womb curl. Days and nights rolled
with tides, her body calcifying, her hair mimicking anemone-hiding for aquatic
life. Under an overcast sky ablaze with heat lightning, a dark hand
crawled from beneath the waterbed, gliding over and under her body…pausing from
time to time and then continuing the cycle. It was there though, the
persistence of that dark hand, a soft pulse was found…near death, the peace of
sleep. It broke into her chest the same way it came through the murky
bottom, taking her heart into its palm, fingers massaging, blood pumping, and
then ripping it from her cavity and placing it to her mouth, forcing strength
and resilience down her throat in each drop of blood squeezed from her pumping
heart. Placing it back into its rightful spot, the dark hand cauterized
the wound before raising her to the surface, lungs re-imagining their function
until she broke the surface….screaming with such pain, anger and fear, betrayal
and frustration, the lightning bolts exploded….shattered glass littering the
sky….tree roots and branches shifting and contorting….birds flew backwards….and
then silence…
…an enveloping silence of a stark white field blanketed in snow,
flurries descending in percussion, her black draped body kneeling, her hands
holding her face as she wept…openly wept to the symphony of
crocus breaking the
frozen earth and blooming through the biting cold…
E.A. O'Connell
No comments:
Post a Comment