Drowning and Running

Mud, it drags her down, she claws and gasps, the filth enters her mouth, drowns her lungs.

Still she kicks, screams, reaches for the sun above her. She wants to escape, to lie, to pretend she isn’t dying.

They threw her into the waters, disgusting and full of trash. It was where all unwanted things are tossed. They gave her the power though, the power to escape.

She merely had to reach the surface, to stay afloat, to fight her way achingly to the shoreline.

If she can, then she is free.

From the pain, the judgement, the life of a slave.

Too long did she pretend it was normal, too long she never ventured forth her questions.

When she finally found her voice, they threw stones, whipped her and in the end, they did the worst thing imaginable.

They left her alone, they left her to die.

In the blinding sun she is dragged into muck so foul, and a smell of rot and decay surrounds her.

Soon her limbs will cease moving, her eyes will glaze over. Flies will pick at her rotting flesh.

Like so many thrown away, she will be a floating corpse.

Such is life in those who are uncaring, unfeeling. For those who run from all the pain.

She doesn’t have the strength, she loses her battle, the layers of garbage wraps around her body, pulling her further beneath the dirty waters. She is dead.

It lasts only a moment, a terrifying moment of unfeeling lifeless existence.

An arm splashes through the dirty water, a warm hand encircles her wrist, she has one last chance. She blinks.

Her hand grabs hold, and she kicks once more, it’s painful, each muscle burns. She must escape, she must get away from the grime. She is pulled to the surface; she opens her mouth coughing and hacks up sludge. The person who pulled her up is gone, but a feeling a warmth stays on her skin, a light touch of life.

She has new energy, she swims towards the shore, somehow it is closer than it was before.

Her hands find the sand and rocks. Bleeding, covered in filth, she drags herself onto land.

Her breath coming in heaving gasps, barely living, but she has escaped the darkest depts of death. It starts to rain.

Cool freshwater rolls across her tender flesh, washing away the blood, the slime. Tears burn her eyes, she pushes herself up, on shaking legs she takes her first steps on new land.

She isn’t whole, not yet, she isn’t clean, but the rain continues to cleanse her. Each step brings her further away from the dark waters behind her, from a past so vile it killed her.

The whispers of the people who harmed her are far away, the bruises are fading, and her body was being washed in a purifying shower. She smiles, the first of many. She had to run, to run far away. To live, she escaped.

Her small steps change, from timid to strong leaps, soon she is running freely, laughing and alive.

You can’t always escape the darkness in life, but you can run towards the light. So, she will keep on running, she isn’t ready to die.