Breaking Waves, by Amber Averay
The ocean laps against the shore, lacy frills gleaming over wet sand. Pearlescent moonlight washes over each wave tip, turning the dark ocean into something ethereal. Magical. Beckoning.
I want nothing more than to slide into its chill embrace, feel the liquid ease over my numb flesh like a silk wrap draping over my shoulders. Welcoming me as easily as my family shunned me.
I inch forward, my bare toes nudging against the lacy froth. Is it cold? I imagine so, but I can’t feel anything. I am desensitised. I am empty.
Water licks at my ankles, gentle waves seducing me to walk deeper. The peace calls to me, promising so much and asking so little. This is something I can’t let down. I will never see disappointment in its face, hear it speak of me with remorse and dismay. It will never mock me, taunt my choices, belittle my beliefs.
It can’t betray me.
The water’s sweet caress soothes me, and I almost feel as I wade in to my knees. To my thighs.
A sense of calm begins to fill me, starting at my toes and slinking upward with each inch of water rising over my flesh. It’s the first time in a long while I’ve felt anything other than failure, misery, self-disgust.
The deeper I go, the greater the sense of comfort, of rightness, that soothes me.
Not much longer now…
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