Fresh Excape {{To Death?!}} [Oneshot]

“Go, Mona, just go,” Ian says, pushing me out the door and slamming it behind me. We had just fought, I am not even sure what about, but h was pretty angry and the only thing I could do was leave. Walking down the little dirt road to the beach, I try to remember what all the yelling had been about. Food, perhaps, or some message I delivered incorrectly. The latter was to rare to be it, but I also don’t remember food being mentioned. Oh what the heck, Ian never mentioned the actual subject we were fighting about. He was always using metaphors. Incomprehensible metaphors, mind you.

I reach the beach a few minutes later. It was one of the few not loaded with docks and fishermen going out. I could not swim. To most citizens of the District, swimming was life, life was swimming, and if you couldn’t swim you were dead. I didn’t need to swim for my job. I was a messenger, a telegram deliverer of sorts. Some people would call me Jabberjay, because I could remember your message and repeat it. I couldn’t sing though. Mockingjay sounds prettier, to me. Perhaps one day I can convince them to quit calling me the capitol’s mutt.

I go in a few feet, letting the water reach my knees, then crouching down so it would be just at my mid chin. The water did feel good. A littler life from the coldness the edged in to my body when I fought with Ian. He was supposed to be my best friend. Well, that was what our mothers wanted. When your mothers are best friends they get the notion their children will grow up together and marry. I knew it would happen. I wasn’t stupid, for a twelve year old. Eventually my mother – or Ian’s mother – would say something like, “Oh wouldn’t they make a great couple?” or “Look at them, so in love!” Then we’d have to get in a relationship to please them, just like how we had to be together so often as friends. I can’t imagine ever kissing his big, fish lips.

They would give us a year or two. Maybe three, if we were lucky. I knew it was coming soon though, as they pushed us together more and more, more than ever before. I was with him almost every day now, which used to be three to five times a week. A little wave splashes into my face, and I cough, the salt burning my nostrils as I try to get the water out of my system. Not much, but salt water did hurt. I back up a little, so the water is at my chest instead. Ian was two months older than me, but he could just as well be thirteen, maybe fourteen. He was tall, his face was much more matured than my baby-like features, he was strong. My mother said he would be able to provide. I didn’t want that, though, I wanted to actually love someone.

I back up another foot and sit down, the water is still at my chest though because of my position. Ian offered to teach me how to swim when we were younger and better friends, and didn’t fight as much. I said yes, but we never got around to it. We were about nine when we decided we didn’t ike each other so much anymore. Never told our parents, though. Couldn’t disappoint them. A rather large wave comes, and before I can move, it splashes into my face, and I am coughing the salt water yet again. In the distance, I see dark clouds. A storm, perhaps?

Hurricanes were not welcome, but it was not even the right season for them, was it? I could never remember what time was what, I only remembered phrases I had to remember. I was good with tests because of that. Another wave comes, but this time I get up so it does not hit my face. Very suddenly an idea strikes me. It was sick, selfish, and drastic, but perhaps it was the only way to escape Ian and his loud, angry, incomprehensible metaphors. Or the one time he tried to strike her If he did it once, he would do it again. I didn’t want to grow up with him for my mother’s pleasures. He would not hurt me, emotionally or physically.

I squint my eyes, looking out at the coming storm. I begin to walk towards it. A few meters later I am up to my chin, standing on my toes. I would do this. Thank you, Ian, for not teaching me how to swim. This is helping me now. This is going to solve my problems. This will make everything better. What comes after life, I wonder? A wave comes, lifting me off my feet and spinning me head first, farther into the water. I suddenly can not touch the ground. I cannot find the ground. I turn, splashing my arms and trying to get back. I changed my mind, I don’t want this.

I try to scream, but another wave comes, pushing me under the water and forcing the terrible salt water into my throat. As I come back up, gasping for the air I now loved with all my heart, I swallow and try to erase the terrible stinging. “He-“I begin, but another wave shoves me under. For a moment I think my feet touch the ground, and I push, looking for the bottom again. I do not come back up. The water swings me back and forth, flipping me as my head bangs on the ground and darkness fills my eyes. The need to breathe was so desperate, so hard; I felt my lungs would explode any moment.

In a desperate attempt to find air, I inhale. It feels huge and slick but little grains of salt scratching at me every moment as the water enters my lungs. The sensation is painful, anything but relieving. I cannot hear anything, and I cannot see. How long had I been under? It felt like years. I feel my body go limp, but something, I don’t know what, yanks be back up. I splash for a second, but then I am back under without a chance to get rid of the terrible stinging water in my body. I can feel myself inhaling again, but this time, instead of more water, I feel nothing. I am nothing. My problems were solved. No more Ian. No more mother. No more terrible future. I should be happy, but I’m not. I understand myself now.

As I walk, I try to remember. Nothing comes to me. A fifth birthday, Ian’s mother giving me a cookie as we sing to him. Gone, I can’t recall it any more. Delivering the one long message to the mayor that took twenty minutes to finish. I can no longer remember it. It’s gone. Why can’t I recall my name? Molly? Mary? Was I ten or was I fifteen? Twelve? Then the little light grows, filling my dark void with a brightness that does not hurt my eyes to watch. The awe that swipes over me brings a depression I had never thought to know. Then, like blowing out a candle, the light is gone, with all my fear and sadness. My body lifts, bringing on a weightlessness I had only dreamed of. With that, I am happy. This joy is something I had only wished for. I close my eyes one final time, letting it engulf me like flames to a piece of wood. Enjoy my metaphor as you will.