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Alex's awesome co-hosts for the June 5 posting of the IWSG are Diane Burton, Kim Lajevardi, Sylvia Ney, Sarah Foster, Jennifer Hawes, and Madeline Mora-Summonte!
Memories
She was a fool to leave Paris.
The city where she feels safe.
She was a fool to come back.
Here.
Here holds too many memories, too many
secrets.
Memories and secrets she can no longer
ignore.
She must deal with them or she’ll never
reach her potential.
There. In front of her. The beach house,
its timbers broken and exposed. Since she escaped, years of relentless tides
have eaten away its foundations. It now teeters on the edge of the dunes, on
its knees in the sand, ready to surrender to a king tide.
Today the ocean holds no threat like it
did that night many years ago. Its gentle waves lap the sand, leaving a trail
of silvery froth and grit. Gazing at the peaceful sea, she almost forgets why
she ran away from her memories for so long. But the mind holds onto things,
remembers things best forgotten, overwhelms in the early morning hours when the
body is most vulnerable.
Confronted with the crumbling house, her
mind searches its dark recesses, unearthing hidden secrets which she thought
buried. Through the years, in her silent moments when the busyness of life
paused, it spoke so softly in the gentlest of whispers, as it tried to speak to
her of its memories. Then there were other times when her pain rushed to the
surface without warning, hurtling through her like a runaway train, threatening
to derail her altogether.
She cries, falls to her knees in the wet
sand. She no longer wants to carry that heavy sharp stone of hurt which has
kept her caged like a helpless bird.
She no longer wants to be a prisoner to
painful memories.
Memories of her last terrible night in the
house threaten to drown her in a tidal wave of hurt.
vvv
On the night she died to her old life, the
wind roared, the rain poured, the waves crashed. The Pacific swirled, rose and
fell in a dance of wave and tide. Then the winds calmed, the moon rose and sat
outside her window, bathing her in light.
She’d been asleep, tossing and turning
like the tide as she did every night. She’d opened her eyes and watched the
moonlight creep across her bed like a lover’s soft caress. The sheets tangled
and folded over the bed like waves. Kicking off the covers, she threw herself
across the bed like a beached whale.
The moon’s light overlooked the angry
welts criss-crossing her legs. The welts throbbed, but she had no ointments to
ease the pain. But the pain she felt inside at her father’s betrayal was worse
than any belting. There were no ointments to soothe that sharp pain.
The crashing waves heralded high tide.
Soon the water would rise to just below her window. The relentless pummeling
against the house posts, thump, thwack, thump, thwack, thump, thwack,
mimicked the sound and rhythm of her father’s belt as it cut her tender flesh
while her mother cowed in the corner, praying. For her husband’s soul? For her
daughter’s pain? Why didn’t she do something? Anything … But her mother was as
helpless as she.
Father would not be denied his will. She was
her father’s daughter. She would never give in. She would not marry the boy from Afghanistan her father chose for her. She would marry the man she loved.
There was a big storm earlier in the night
and now the rain starts again. Relentless. Like her father’s demands. He locked
her in her room until you come to your senses were his words. She
hasn’t been able to communicate with Ahmed since she was imprisoned, but she was
not afraid. She would escape her cage. She and Ahmet would be together. As
God willed.
She knew Ahmet waited for her beyond the
dunes. It was her hope. Her belief.
She wrapped her hand in the end of her sheet and
smashed the locked window, thankful the pelting rain muffled the sound of
breaking glass. Falling from the window, she was thankful she did not cut
herself on the jagged edges. The black night sucked her in. She swam for her
life in the treacherous waters, her robe tangled around her knees, threatening
to drag her under. Water filled her mouth and nose. Waves slapped her face but
fell more gently than her father's hands. She fought the urge to surrender to
the elements. No. She has waited too long for freedom. What was this water
compared to the joy that lay ahead, a new life with her love? Her name meant
‘Heart’s Wish.’ She would have her wish.
A new life in Paris. With Ahmet.
Her bare feet found sand at last. Running out of the water, she held
her sopping robe in her hands and sprinted toward the trees.
‘Emma Dil.’ Ahmed whispered her name from
his place on the dunes where he later told her he’d made a shelter and watched her window for many days.
Ahmed held her in his safe arms.
She was home.
vvv
Ahmed watches her now from the top of the
dunes, next to the crumbling wreck that had been her home when her family first
arrived from Afghanistan. Before it became her prison. A few long strides and
he is by her side. He gently lifts her from the sand. Cradles her. Rocks her
like a baby while she cries in his arms.
Her tears are healing.
She will be whole again.
‘My brave girl,’ he whispers.
Over her shoulder the house groans and
lurches, falls into the sea. Its timbers break up like skittles. The tide
reaches out its greedy hand and sucks it under the waves.
vvv
WORD COUNT: 949
My main reason for surrendering the hosting of WEP is that I need more time to sort my stories/books for publishing. I have plenty. I am collating a series of short stories from various genres written over my 9 years with RFW and WEP challenges. Most have grown from the 400 word days of RFW and the current 1,000 word limit for WEP to between 2,000 and 4,000 words. The above story may be included in one of my collections, so please comment on how to improve it. As it's a PRESENT/PAST/PRESENT it's easy to make mistakes of tense.
Thank you!!!!
FCA
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