Creative Writing,  My Writing

Hurt

‘The cure for everything is salt water. Sweat, tears or the sea.’

He felt like screaming. Like throwing his head back as far as it would go, opening his mouth and letting go. Just screaming until his voice was rough, croaky and ruined. Until the pain in his vocal chords exceeded the pain he was feeling now.

He wanted to scream until this feeling of hurt, anguish, of everything going wrong just didn’t exist. Didn’t attack every pore of his being. He wanted it gone, it wouldn’t drip out through tears sliding down his cheeks and he wouldn’t get anywhere by staying in this house. This now toxic house. A continual reminder of his pain.

He needed open space so it could all seep out. So he left. And he ran.  He kept on running until the blue expanse of the horizon started to welcome him.

He kept running. Then splashing. But always moving forward. He started swimming when his feet left the sand bed.

Pulled himself through the water violently. Desperately.

He caused himself to start gasping for air while gulping water down. The salt scratching his throat and the inhaling mimicking screaming. but not quite there yet.

His muscles started screaming before his voice. And then he stopped and he floated. He listened to the water roaring in his ears. He felt the small ripples that would soon become waves slide underneath him.

He breathed.

He let go.

And he forgot.

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