At Ends Meet.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A quick Cliff hanger about about one young woman's final decision to live or not to live.

Submitted: July 12, 2017

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Submitted: July 12, 2017

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AT ENDS MEET.

There once was a time that came where I found myself standing on the edge of the shore, staring at the waves the blue ocean created as they broke a few meters from mey feet and travelled at a slow speed in my general direction before they began touching the tip of my toes.
 
The chillingly cold water created a queer feeling, similar to a small climax, that rushed through my feet, gluing my feet to the very the spot that I stood and leaving me to feel numb and immobilised. I began to feel as if I were almost trapped yet feeling so free as a small sprinkle of the wave would touch my bare skin in places only known to myself and the scent in the air lingering around my body like a guard soon to let me down. Then another wave, similar to the first, would follow.
 
Each one sending the feelings of demand a little higher than the one before whilst building on the sensation of entering the water completly  at the same time. Indulging my body and dragging a small handful of my soul with it as it made its way back into the ocean. It peacefully began to pull my emotions in with itself as it birthed a new wave.
 
Unfortunately that very same wave would then become the very next one to hit the shore and then again, me. Every time one wave would hit and another would form the confusion would build itself up, confusion began to feel like a normal emotion after half an hour or so of watching the same waves break and reform themselves, bigger and better; and each time becoming stronger.
 
I started to question why I myself couldn't accomplish the very same method of healing, or perhaps, even correspond my emotions with my thoughts to allow one another to work together to achieve a fair resolution. One that wouldn't hurt myself, or the ones I loved.
 
Only shortly after my thoughts became voices and my feeling of peace and relaxation turned to envy of the ocean I once loved did the tears follow. They burnt my eyes and then as they fell down my face, they also burnt my cheeks. I hated the feeling, but I'd allowed myself to be in the position I was in. I found myself screaming nonsense along with hatred for myself carelessly at the top of my lungs as passersby continued on in shock of the delusion they were witnessing.
 
Soon the crowd died down and I was alone again, on the same shore watching the same waves break, over and over again. Taking a deep breath and braced for what I was allowing to become of myself, I took a small step towards the water, followed by another. Each one broader than the last, until eventually the sand between my toes stopped and I could no longer feel the bottom. Placing my hands together, in preparation ot prayer, I began to recite in a whisper one of my dearest diary entries from 127 days prior. I prayed that this works, that my family and friends only grieve the loss of me. That they aren't left on their knees by my hospital bed, crying their eyes out as they begin to question themselves, and feel the very same feelings I felt for so long before I gave my battle up. Guilt being just one of them.
 
I prayed that every heart would heal and find happiness sooner rather than later, and that the healed wounds never reopen. Even on the darkest of days they would know that a little bit of sunshine, even just a ray was me watching over them all proudly.
 
I prayed that they receieved all the happiness in the world and the best of fortunes. Lastly, I prayed that everyone that had ever done me wrong felt no shame in doing so, instead they regained vision of what their actions could cause and raise their children into better ones than they were. Once I had completed my prayers I found myself submerged in the depths of the water, eyes wide open gazing at that little ray of sunshine I wished myself to be. The last thought I had was a peaceful one, one of a happy place.
 
They found me lifeless, only a few short hours later. My body telling the story of my final hours for itsself.
 
However, my face, with a smile big enough to greet a classroom could have left some questions that luckily enough, i could not anwser,

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Stacy dobson. All rights reserved.

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