Voodoo [H.S.]

Twenty Five

August 26th, 2022

Drowning.

Every breath I inhale water fills my lungs. I try to cough, but I just inhale more water. I'm right on the brink of unconsciousness, but no matter how long I go without air, surrounded by a burning sensation, I don't fade out.

I want to fade out. I want to go completely under, and just let the peaceful feeling that's just out of reach take over. There isn't anything left for me to do here, I just want to stop feeling like I can't stop drowning.

The ground gives way below me and I fall deeper into the waves. I feel the coolness of the air for a brief moment, but as soon as I take a breath I'm back under the waves. My arms flail around me as I try to get back to the surface, but every time I feel that breeze against my face it's cruelly taken away from me and all I can get is more water.

Water.

Water.

Water.

The waves shove me further under and again I'm surrounded. I don't know which way is up and which way is down. I want to scream, but nothing will come out. All I can do is allow the water to fill my lungs over and over again, like my own personal hell.

I'm dying.

Abruptly, I can breathe again. It's fresh and clean and light and everything I needed. My chest heaves, taking in as much of the air around me as I can before it gets taken away from me again. I realize I can open my eyes and when I do, I find myself sitting in a grass field, the white-blue sky blinding above me. I squint my eyes up at the sun when a shadow covers my face and suddenly there is a figure above me.

For some reason, I don't move a muscle. I stay completely still, averting my eyes to the ground below me hoping to stay invisible. There's a lump in my throat, but I'm not sure why. I don't feel afraid, I actually feel curious, but it's like I'm glued to my spot.

The figure sits directly in front of me and it's then that I lift my head up. A gasp escapes my lips when I see her long, black hair. Oh, how I've missed her. Her eyes look just as soft as I remember. Her boney hands rest on top of her knees, wearing her torn up patchwork jeans that I remember so well. I don't even realize I'm crying until my mom reaches out to wipe my tears away.

"Sweetheart, why are you crying? There's no reason to be sad," she smiles gently. I reach up to grab her hands in mine that are still over my cheeks. I can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, the veins protruding out, the softness of her palms.

I want to say something, anything, but I can't speak. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Even my cries are completely silent.

What kind of sick, twisted place is this?