SPARK // Enoch O'Connor

chapter 1: Hiraeth

Hiraeth

(n) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or never was.
• • •

I gasped for air. I screamed.

I was enveloped by salt water.

It stung my eyes. Filled my nose. And began to funnel down my throat.

I re-surfaced. Coughed and gagged up the infectious water.

The powerful waves took over my whole body. Thrashing me here, and there, underwater, above the water. Children were screaming, but their cries of terror were insignificant compared to the thunderous sound of the waves.

The tsunami hit.

It never has, and no one had ever expected it. It was always stopped right as the first wave rose into the air like a wet blanket being dried on a clothesline. The reset. Miss Parrot was never late to reverse the time and reset the loop. We all enjoyed watching the reset-the children and me of course. We loved seeing the beautiful terror rise in the sky and make the skies shine a dark blue. Noon was our reset time. And noon is when the first wave hit.

We were all aware of Miss Parrot's sickness. I tried hiding it from the children, afraid they might become frightened themselves, but it easily spread between the few other peculiars. I'm the eldest at sixteen, the other children being twelve, seven, six, and three. Miss Parrot and I took care of the few children. But when she died this morning, I had to think fast to get the children to safety.

I uncovered the emergency boat from underneath Hawaii's luscious palm trees. I stacked in food, water, blankets. I helped them pack their bags. Put life jackets on them. Grabbed my own belongings. Said one final goodbye to my headmistress. Sang them songs to hush their tears.

I was ready.

But when noon hit, and the first wave came crashing down, all of my preparation was obliterated. I tried keeping the boat steady, but the weight of our bags pulled us down and tipped the boat.

The boat. Our safety. Fell onto little Angelina. And snapped the poor girl's neck.

With my own eyes I watched the six year old's death. And could do nothing about it.

I tried to grab the three year old. But he was no where in sight.

I screamed for the other children, but they were washed away in their own screams for help.

Which brings me back to the present.

The waves are higher now.

Each wave brings a new, more powerful impact to my small frame. Each hit breaks me down that much more. Ripping at every moral aspect in my soul. Slowly, painfully tearing away any hope of survival.

I slammed against a thick log in the water. I gasped at the sudden impact to my abdomen, but dug my nails into the soft-wood, praying that I found some sort of relief to my suffering.
But my exhaustion kicked in. All of the events of the day, plus the fight to live, over-took my body.

And I fell back into the water.

• • •