Dry Mouth - By Vanessa Kelly
I wondered how much longer I could hold on. It had been days since the last time my tongue had tasted anything but the grains of sand that blew around me. My mouth wasn’t even producing saliva anymore, leaving my lips cracked like the jagged edges of rock I could see off in the distance. If only I could get to them, maybe then, I would be okay. But it was my will to go on that was fading, just like my memories of all those I loved back home.
I hated him for taking me. No one was going to know where I was now. At least back home I had some hope—but here the only thing I felt was hopelessness, and sand, it etched into the palms of my hands embedding a tiny army of pain each time I attempted another crawl forward.
He told me on my fourth day I would die. But it was day five and I was still hanging on--barely. My skin had seared underneath the beating sun. Each time I inched forward it cringed and tried to hold me back whipping me like a disobedient slave who is forced to keep working. The pain was subsiding, maybe because I had become numb, but I knew that my end was probably near, that my time had come.
I pictured my mother waiting at home for my return. She would be pacing around the living room for any word of my safety as she chewed away her pink polish and filed her nails until the only thing left were tiny nubs. It had only taken him a few seconds to grab me, one minute I was walking on the sidewalk the next I was lifted into a menacing black van, speeding away from everything I knew and loved. I remember being too frightened to scream, or maybe I couldn’t because his massive hands were covering my lips. They weren’t chapped then.
I asked him why he took me . . . his reply was simple, yet terrifying, my hair was just too dark. Weakly I felt the top of my head it was short and pierced my hand like a spike. He had cut away my femininity leaving it in giant, curly, clumps that cluttered his contemporary bathroom floor. Once he was satisfied, he discarded me like a piece of garbage; throwing me into the middle of my sandy prison, laughing as he quickly drove away from the scene. In four days I would die he said . . . but he had no idea how badly I wanted to live.
By the end of day five I was exhausted. The rocks seemed so close now, maybe just a few feet more and I would reach them. I inched forward the best I could, but my life was drying up just as fast as the saliva in my mouth. Forward I crawled, slowly making my way across the cooling sand. It soothed me, my sunburns were severe enough to keep me warm making those last moments of living easier. Another inch, one more crawl, and then nothing my body had given out. I laid there defeated my will was gone and all I had left were the memories of my loved ones and a handful of Asphalt. It was then I saw them a pair of dual white lights barreling towards me. Was it a mirage; was I delirious and seeing things? With my last few units of strength I held up my arm, I had to give it at least one more try . . . The last thing I remember was a high pitched squeal and then silence. Freedom had come.
WHAT'S FOR DINNER: Frozen Pizza
KID QUOTE OF THE DAY:
My daughter: Daddy listen do you know who this?
My husband: Yeah it's Miss Adele
My daughter: Daddy it's just Adele, She's a singer not a teacher
SONG OF THE DAY:
Tom Petty - Free Falling
Nice free write, Vanessa!
ReplyDeleteYou've got the start of a really compelling story here :-)