Creative Writing,  My Writing

The World Was Wide Enough

Hi, Hey, Hello!

It’s the last day of April and yesterday I actually hit my word count goal for the month so…winning. And somehow through some strange twist of a lot of hard work and furious typing sessions I am actually finishing this thing on time. Which to be honest, I didn’t think would happen when my creativity took a long walk off a short pier and I was left with the uphill battle of writing 6 posts in 3 days. And I’m closing the month with two posts, shall we start with the first one?

‘There is no beat, no melody.’

The waves crash against the shore quietly in the late purple glow of dusk and brings with them a sense of calm. They lull him into a false sense of security and convince him that everything will be okay. He regulates his breathing to move in time with the waves. In for 4, out for 5. In for 4, out for 5.

He lay back on the slightly damp sand and felt his clothes start to cling to his back. It was cooling at first and as his breathing slowed down to match the tide perfectly he felt himself slowly sink back into the sand. The grains of sand scratch at his scalp and in his general sense of calm and almost relaxation they remind him of his reality.

The water starts to lick at the soles of his shoes before it drags itself back in. The motion getting quicker and the sound starting to sound louder in his ears reminds him that he is alive. When the waves start moving too quickly to be relaxing he feels the full extent of his reality crash over him and he chokes. The spluttering causes him to sit up and watch the water move around him, dampening his jeans and shoes and embedding sand into the denim. He starts to feel distinctly uncomfortable with his surroundings and regretting even coming out to the beach in the first place.

It was supposed to be calming and yet all it had done was lull him into a place where he thought he could partially forget and then snatched it from him. The waves were coming in quicker and even though he was trying to avoid it, so was his breathing. He could feel himself getting panicked and worked up. There were spots starting to blur his vision and the roaring in his ears became so loud it was almost deafening. He could no longer hear the waves crashing around him, but he could feel his clothes becoming so wet that they were almost like a second skin.

His hands are shaking and even though they are clenched into fists they won’t stop. He tries to breathe in for 4 and out for 5 again but they won’t work like that. They keep trying to match the waves again but they are getting too fast for that to be relaxing. In the confusion between trying to breathe properly and trying to breathe in time with the ocean he has stopped breathing at all which is making the whole situation worse as a whole. He can feel his eyes start to droop as his vision clouds over even more and the rushing in his ears is making him feel light headed and weak.

He tries to stand but he feels weighed down by the water and his clothes and in even attempting to do so he also feels all his energy disappear. Just the simple motion of putting his hands back into the sand feels like too much effort because he can’t seem to get a grip on anything. He feels it slipping through his fingers and he thinks it’s almost amusing how the sand seems to reflect his life.

He has no control. And on this beach in the middle of the tide moving in he feels that more than ever as he struggles to get to grips with the panic that has latched on to every cell of his being. He feels like he’s falling, but there is no place to land. Nowhere is safe and for a split second he thinks that it might just be easier to let the water take him.

It is that thought that makes his blood turn cold. He digs his nails hard into the fleshy palm of his hand and the sharp stabs of pain give him a sense of grounding. He starts to pulse the pain, releasing and tensing, and in doing so he tries to match his breathing to the pain. Focuses on it. Feels things start to settle again. The rushing in his ears quietens down until all he can hear is the distinct sound of the waves crashing against the shore again.

Things still feel like they are falling apart, but he feels more together now. His clothes are sodden and uncomfortable to be in and the sand is scratching at his skin in multiple locations making him itch and slightly paranoid. His breathing follows a pattern again, not a relaxing one, but one that he can focus on. In for 3, out for 4. In for 3, out for 4.

In for 3, out for 4.

In for 3, out for 4.

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