Jet Propelled This is a dramatically whittled down version of a much longer piece, which obviously woud not fit the word count constraint.
The original featured a relationship that had gone badly wrong, but there’d been signs from the start, that the protagonist had failed to acknowledge. We do that sometimes, don’t we?
However, I quite like the different feeling this reduced version has, where the downward slide is possibly into drink or drugs, but is about her, rather than in relation to another.
Feet sinking into wet sand, I recall childhood fears of quicksand, as though the terrifying prospect of impotently drowning into liquid earth would be a constant in my life.
The setting sun pale orange among wisps of lilac cloud. Waves receding, I yield to gravity. I’m stuck in a mental quicksand, unable to extricate myself from the downward sucking sensation in my guts.
Ankles covered now, the edge of the sea only metres away. A sharp, fleeting streak of panic whips through me, confusing the recalled quicksand fears with present reality.
Tears fall. I don’t want this. The fears, searching, diminished existence; the untruths, broken trust, my slide into utter dependence. The once-fun party grown into a monstrous priority.
“I’m not doing this any more”, a fierce yet compassionate voice intones, rising up from within from my bleeding womb: a warrior goddess I’ve never encountered before. Unearthly and initially frightening, she commands me forward, towards the ebbing sea.
I cannot resist.
“Surrender”, the voice whispers.
I walk into the sea, fear evaporating with each step. The deity grows strong within me. My volition now infused by this unbidden force.
A high wailing cry emits from my mouth raised to an indigo sky, to greet the coming night. A howl of liberation. I’m free, serene and strangely grounded in water. Out on the high seas raising storms, wrecking ships and soothing troubled waters.
I rise to a wild, earthy dance of power and witchery. I am possessed… of myself.