Her legs dangled over the edge of the rickety pier, causing her feet to be soaked by the icy waves. She didn’t mind. She had stopped feeling the cold in her toes hours ago.
The wind whipped her hair across her face and into her eyes. Every breath she took was exhaled in a cloud of steam.
This was, truthfully, the most calm she had ever felt – would ever feel. She was the eye of the storm. She was all-powerful. But soon enough, the wind would die down. Before she knew it, it would be summer. The water would be warm and the beach and sea would be full of people. She would not be calm. She would not be alone. She would not be powerful.
So she held onto those last few moments, because it was during those moments where everything would be its clearest.
Another wave crashed into her, bigger than the rest, drenching her clothes and plastering her hair against her scalp. She began to shiver, not having expected an attack like this. As quickly as that, the calmness, the power, of this girl was gone, while her shivers increased in number and strength. She hauled her feet back onto the pier and forced herself to stand. As she slowly walked back down the pier and along the beach, each step took more strength than she knew she possessed and more time than she really had. By the time she was off the beach, the waves had grown ferocious, and had taken the pier. If she was still there, the sea would have had her too.
Her numb fingers dropped her keys and she fumbled to pick them up, wasting valuable seconds away from the warmth. By the time she had gotten the keys into the lock and had twisted them, her fingers had the faintest hint of blue in them. She staggered into her house, turning the heating on and forcing herself upstairs so she could change.
When she returned downstairs, she made herself a cup of tea, spilling boiling water everywhere, even on her hands. She didn’t notice.
She looked out of the window that faced the beach, sipping her tea. The wind had died down. The sun had come out. The waves had lessened.
The pier was still gone. She would never be calm again. She would never be powerful again.
She sighed, and turned the fire on in the kitchen. It was going to be a long winter.
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I don't even know.
YOU ARE READING
A Little Book of One-Shots
Teen FictionI'm an amazing procrastinator. FACT. I'm horrific at time management. FACT. None of my ideas will ever be completed unless they're purposefully left unfinished. FACT (most of the time). I love that cover. FACT.
