Pounding

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes there's nothing else to do but run!

Submitted: April 16, 2017

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Submitted: April 16, 2017

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Pounding

 

 

You swerve violently into the parking space and slam on the brake. You pull on the handbrake, knock the stick into neutral. Grabbing the keys you almost fall out of the door onto the stones. You find your balance just in time to stop yourself from hitting the ground hard.

 

All the emotions you have struggled to keep inside on the drive start bubbling up and boiling over. At least the beach is deserted. Your car is the only one parked. Angrily you swipe at your eyes, pretend to yourself that the couple of tears that are already making tracks down your cheeks are just raindrops. There’s plenty of them, after all.

 

You slam the car door, lock it, and make your way across the dunes and down towards the sandy beach. Already you can feel the dampness making its way inside your sneakers, the rain soaking its way into your clothes. You are not dressed for a walk on the beach, especially when it is pouring down with rain. But the violence of your emotion numbs you to the wetness, to the cold, and you carry on towards the sea.

 

Once you reach the water’s edge you begin to run. Slowly at first, not much more than a jog. You keep going, getting faster and faster. Your feet pound through the sea spray. The waves, whipped up by the wind and the rain, hurtle towards you. You ignore them and continue pushing yourself forwards.

 

It is hard work running through wet sand but you relish the struggle. You open your mouth and start to shout it all out, the pain, the rage, the betrayal. The cold air hurts your lungs as you gulp it down. The salt in the air stings your face. The tears are flowing freely now, mingling with the spray, the rain. You don’t care! There is no one here to see you cry.

 

Pumping arms, pounding feet. Screaming and swearing, curses filling the air, being carried out across the sea. Further and further you get from your car but still you keep going, tiring though; no longer able to keep up the rapid pace.

 

There is a crop of rocks ahead. You make your way towards them, sit for a moment and stare out to sea. You are cried out, have no more tears. There are no more shouts left either. Nothing but total numbness. You climb up onto the rock, standing tall. Put your hands in your pockets, pull out the car keys. And you fling them out into the sea, as far as you can.

 

You don’t want the car, don’t want anything. You carry on over the rock, slipping, scraping your hands, your knees. Doesn’t matter – you don’t feel a thing. Now you have recovered your breath you begin to run again, pounding over the sand and away from the direction you came from.


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