berryblush

I couldn’t breathe. Why the hell was I doing this? How did I end up in this situation? Each breath was short, sharp. Tiny gulps of air, barely reaching my lungs. I felt like heaving. I was heaving. But nothing came up. I was empty after all. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. That’s what it’s like when you get on the bad side of those that hold the power. I don’t know how I managed that. I guess it’s because I’m an idiot. Or maybe they prey on my weakness, like lions picking on the weakest link of a herd of fleeing antelopes. I’m that really sick one, the one that hobbles along and c

Lucia settled into her bed, its thin sheets and worn pillow tiredly embracing her as it did every night. She sighed, listening intently to the constant, shaking footfalls outside. Like rain comforts one while in the comfort of their bed, whether the gentle patter or the raging downpour, the footfalls and their somewhat erratic rhythm altogether calmed her.  On a worn piece of upright wood she had kept a small metal cup, so that she could hear its faint clatter every time it rose so slightly in response to the footfalls. Suddenly, her entire room shook violently more than ever, accompanied by a clumsy sliding noise that came to an abrupt halt

He sat next to her, smiling gently and holding her hand in his, loosely. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity at the frothing waves so far below and the night sky punctuated with little glimmering punches of white.  Almost imperceptibly, she leaned in, her eyes slowly closing and her hold on his hand tightening ever so gradually. He reacted inwardly almost instantaneously; he was not ready for intimacy. He jumped up, looking down on her. She looked at him, eyes now wide with barely concealed surprise and hurt. She also stood up, but slowly and reluctantly. And all she did was take one long look at him before

The walls shake and I feel dizzy and sick. Sprawling in a space, with other humans, the squirming mass of human below me makes me feel like vomiting. Nothing is still. Nothing is calm. A little girl tries to stand, her father or uncle or just a stranger attempting to push her up. As she is hoisted up with an arm, her little face has a tinge of happiness and my heart flutters for her. That little moment of joy among this roiling epitome of despair fills me with momentary elation. A jarring jolt from outside brings her crashing back into the moving mass, her face contorting with fear and apprehension. Once again, she is part of the mass and is