The Swirling Deep

There are certain situations that need not be told. Certain feelings not uncovered without reason or need. Some things are kept in a bottle as a life line. Parchment paper with a note of a supplication in life-threatening proportions sealed in a dirty glass bottle. The waves ebb it out to sea. The flow gets it to an unsuspecting man or woman who may or may not care. Urgency is of the essence, but no one seems to care as much as the one who birthed the bottle from the beginning. People may come and help, but it will most likely be too late. The ocean will most likely have half-eaten the one who wrote the plea. The swish of the sea evidence on their body. Perhaps a creature, of water or land, already devouring the poor soul. But tides bring in new days. New jetsam. New storms. New bodies. And then the process of survival starts again. Only difference is that there is no telling those who will survive and those who will not be able to survive.

The wrath of his anger came towards her. Those menacing steps. Each with a certain weight, a distinct sound, a recognizable rhythm. She knew that her time of peace was over. She knew that things were going to be very different when the footsteps reached her door. She took a quick breath. She was doubtful that the door would be able to hold up against what’s to come, never mind the doorknob. She thought about what could happen. All the bad scenarios in her mind. He had broken down the door before. But this was a newer door. Hide. She could hide under the bed again. Too bad her hair has gotten longer since the last incident. The closet was too obvious and vulnerable. She could hear yelling now. Yelling about her. Defend. She looked around for any potential weapons. Why had she not thought of that before? Oh, right, the fear of overpowering her and using it against her. She did that around one of the first times and regretted it. Phone. She could call the police and threaten that they would come. But if he gets arrested, then his brothers might come after her. They have told her so and had almost raped her as a warning. Internet. She could record everything on her computer so the world would watch. Embarrass him and his family. She could give the footage to news stations that would take it. But what if she doesn’t live to be able to do so? What if she dies in the process and destroys the evidence? She could hear his anger clearly down the hall now. Her name being called for with cuss words following. She heard a big object clank against the walls. Fear now engulfed her. How can she think? She knows something bad will happen to her being. To her soft body. Another blow to her innocence and peace of mind. Suicide. Don’t give him the satisfaction of beating you. Let it all go now. The suffering to end before it starts. She only had a dull pocket knife and a sturdy leather belt in the room. The door starts banging. He is screaming for her to open the door. The object is deafening against the door protecting her from certain pain. Sound like a wooden block of some kind. The option of death seems to comfort her, but should she hang herself now? Moments from the door being taken down? Run. She could make a run for it. she could trick him and run away. She will have to bet that no one is in the house who could side with him. But can she get away? She has obviously tried in the past, with little luck. She can use the belt as a distraction. Or perhaps perfume? The doorknob is now broken. He has seen her.

What she does now will decide her fate. Will she survive?


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