In Your Clutches

Part 38: The Truth?

ASHER

I was flying─or rather I was in the air.

A blinding light entered my vision, I squinted and winced, raising my fingers over my head, blocking the light.

I expanded my fingers, the light fell through it and onto my face-it was warm, it was the sunlight.

I was in a bright mist, though it was not like the mist I had ever experienced before. My surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings.

I blinked a few a few times. Slowly, it seemed like the mist was clearing.

I glanced beside me-I wasn't flying, I was floating on water.

Suddenly, I was drowning, I moved my hands frantically, slapping the water, hard.

I emerged out of the water, gasping for air. Hurriedly, I swam to the land. I began taking off my wet shirt, only to realise it wasn't wet.

I fisted my hands beside me, feeling the something wet and squishy-sand. I was sat on the... on the seashore.

It seemed like a morning of gloomy ambience. I got up and ran across the beach, barefooted, my hair bathing in the boreal mist.

I glanced at the far end of the beach, palm and coconut trees dancing with the gentle wind. I crossed the distance, touching their strong trunks.

The breeze swiftly kissed my face; the motherly hands of nature nurtured me, cradling me into her lap, making me feel whole.

Exhumed by the celestial brew, I invited the sun rays to comb my soul.

In the light that painted my skin ever so warmly, the trees moved, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another. They were the life and soul of this early summer morning, and I instantly felt a long lost connection with the place.

It happened in slow motion. A young child was making sand castles a few metres away from where I stood. He excitedly showed his creation to a man and a woman-probably his parents, who were hidden from my view. Their shoulders shook from laughter as they patted the child's head lovingly.

The scene shifted to another day. It was raining, the young boy was in his raincoat, screaming at the clouds to stop crying. He wanted to play on the beach, he wanted to make sand castles with his parents, but the clouds never stopped crying and he wistfully turned to go back home.

The scene shifted again. The boy had grown up now, he was digging the sand, collecting sea shells. He gave a loud yelp, and began crying hysterically. A jellyfish had bit him. His mother took him aside and began tending to the wound, while the father dragged the jellyfish into the water with a sand shovel.

The scene changed to another day at the beach. The parents were lying on the lounger, reading a book, while the boy swam in the sea, giggling as the salty water entered his mouth. "Don't drink the sea water!" His mother warned but he continued giggling, splashing the water at them.

Now the three of them were drawing on the sand with a branch. They drew a heart, and wrote their initials inside.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

The scene shifted. It was not on the beach anymore, it was room-rather a bedroom, large and clean. The wooden bed was neatly made, the walls were flower patterned, the blue curtains fluttering with the breeze from the open window.