CWRC Anthology

VIOLET, THE VIOLENT

© 2022 by Praise Chidimma Abraham.

Brought to you by Christian Writers and Readers Club.

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Violet ran, and ran, and ran.
But all her running felt like she was treading a giant treadmill on a spot. Like she was a guinea pig, spinning in a miniature Ferris wheel in an iron cage.

She couldn't control the panic that clawed at her mind at the onslaught of the hulking beings that plodded close on her heels.

How long had it been since she got caught in this cycle of fleeing and snares?
It had been ever since she could tell left from right. Ever since she was little and her cowardice had resulted in the death of her mother.

Violet could feel her lungs constricting. Her breaths came out in short wheezes and loud gasps for oxygen.

The nipping air enveloped her, ruffling her thick, curly hair and lacy dress, not in the nicest of ways.
Thorns and prickles grazed her skin, cutting through the epidermis, and drawing out tiny streaks of blood.

The wind howled around her.
Her mind's cry for help was confined.

Forward. Go forward.

Only, she knew there'd be no refuge ahead.

The malevolent forces chasing her slammed something hard into her back.

She fell face first onto the muddy floor of the forest. As she squirmed and turned over, she felt the darkness towering over her, gloating.

When she gazed into their lifeless coal-black orbs of evil, the scream that had been suppressed in her mind escaped her mouth in an echoing note that quaked the surrounding mountains.

~~~

"You only have to give yourself to Jesus, V. That's the only plausible solution to your predicament."

Violet groaned and rolled her puffy eyes.

She was the picture of everything unkempt. Her hair was disheveled, her mouth bleeding and her dress had a few scratches as she'd just emerged as a savage from the jungle rather than just getting up from her bed.

It was very early in the morning before the sun had peeked through the horizon. She managed to escape her nightmare just as she was about to be devoured.

She'd hoped to grab a cup of coffee and time to analyze what just happened in her dream.
However, Marabel, her only friend in the world, was already up, flipping pancakes in their small kitchen, whistling a merry tune.

She was sick to her stomach from hearing this same old Jesus mantra.
These motivational speakers and Jesus preachers—her friend topping the list—were beginning to grate on her nerves.
Why did she have to be stuck with such a therapist-counselor for a friend?

She squinted her eyes, trying not to glower at the dark-skinned, slim lady who was now serving an early breakfast.

Theirs was a queer friendship pair that fulfilled the science law of opposite poles attracting. A complementary match, nonetheless.

They'd met in high school days when Violet had been living with her third foster parents.

Marabel was being bullied by some high school peacocks. They took special delight in dangling the poor girl's inhaler just beyond her reach even though it was obvious the girl was weakening due to a mild asthma attack.

Violet, who had obtained for herself a reputation of 'the girl no one dared to mess with, felt compelled to rescue Marabel. 

Although Violet had initially pushed her away, Marabel was the only real friend who stuck, who saw past her mask of tomboyishness and took her for who she was even till the present.