Teach Me How To Swim

3

If I were to swim away, would I be the type of girl they'd go looking for?

It was a long pressing question, which Marie was gaining the will to solve.

<>

     The wind blowing in my face only pushed my adrenaline further as I rushed to the sand, over hills, under branches, and through steep slopes, I ran. As I neared the beach, the force of the air picked up dramatically, and I found myself being entranced by the oddly abnormal size of the waves. Dark clouds formed overhead, a dangerous stunt to pull no matter how experienced the swimmer. I still wanted to go. I yearned for it. There was a chance, a chance that I could be more than what they see me for, and a chance to achieve what I've ached for so long finally. A boat, a nice one of my own, forever wind in my face and the strong scent of salt, I wanted nothing more than to be free.

<>

    What is the cost for deliverance? How deep must I swim to clear my name? How far must I go to cure my adventurous spirit?

Step closer, Marie. You will never build your empire without water.

I am ready.

With a great sense of valor, I eagerly stepped one foot into the water, feeling the wet sand under my feet, and then the other.

I felt free.

<>

     Further and further I stepped, leaving every ounce of insecurity and fear behind me. Bits of shells and seaweed brushed against my feet; my wings dragged, the ending hem of my dress getting soaked and enhanced with the smell of life. My hands roamed the water, taking in everything it had to offer. Thunder crackled above me, a little fall of the rain cannot hurt me now. I am too far out for fear to reach me. I am too far feeling impended for anything to worry me now.

<>

     Why must my happiness exist for so little time? Dmitry had discovered me, and so had many others. I heard the shouts of cries of from my people from the sand, some not even daring to set foot on it. It poured; lightning tossed itself across the sky, finding a new way to strike with each explosion of light. My hair, stringy and sticking to my face, blocked most of my vision. Water splashed up against me, causing me to stumble, my wings flexing, trying to find some place where it wasn't as harsh, and the wind was not knocking me in a force more powerful than I had ever seen. Any attempts at moving were proven unsuccessful. Was this how I die? Am I destined to die at the hands of my dreams? Suddenly, the water shallowed some, and I could finally find a way out, taking in harsh inhales, trying to find regular air instead of the acid, lung filling salt. From then the shallowness of the sea grew into a wave, a gigantic groundbreaking wave.

Marie?

It beckoned me to approach.

Marie!

I was overwhelmed looking upon it.

Marie.

And from the wave, it sprouted three arms and a hand of porcelain. In which they held, despondency, pique, and insubordination in the form of a rose.

It was blue, mysterious and ambiguous.

The impossible.

Was this another taunt?

The unattainable.

Another illusion?

From behind me, there was nothing but sand, and I heard faint noises of a soft whisper.

     Everything seemed to freeze in time, the rain, and even myself. All that seemed to move was the massive wall of water; it loomed over me, intimidating me, persuading me to give up. The soft husk of the whispers grew louder behind me, as I tried to ease my way around, the walls roared, a horrifyingly mesmerizing sound, and I looked back. Some of the water had shifted itself into beautiful pieces of art, goddesses and gods and what looked like visions from the heavens above. Sudden light reflected off of them, only making it more attractive and tempted to look at as they persistently offered the roses. I felt something cold, and withered, brush against my leg. I, with a great struggle, looked down. A porcelain arm and a hand, cracked and beaten down, holding the frailest piece of nature I had ever seen.

It was purple, enchanting and full of magnetism. How could something so weak, have opulence and majesty despite looking like one touch, could destroy it? I wanted to care for the small seedling and give it all it needed to grow strong again.

    The wall of water once again roared in protest, being significantly more mesmerizing and equally as terrifying. The withered rose grew weaker; chips of the porcelain fell into the water and began to wash away. The wall, elegant and extravagant created more images of light. I felt dizzy and compelled. Hands reaching out to grab the blue roses, and suddenly it felt wrong.

That, my dream, was not impossible, nor was it unattainable. It may have been at first, but I am stronger than the forces that beckoned me and beckoned me to give in. I shook my head, and I wanted the purple rose.

I wanted to win.

<>

I fought back against the calls and the roaring, ignored the images.

This is not me.

I do not give up.

Nobody is rooting for you.

I do not give in.

Think of the shame your brother will receive.

I cannot give in.

You will hurt your brother because of this?

Dmitry, I am so sorry.

My hand intertwined with the rose.

And I felt complete.