MABEL
Being caught was a blistering notion – and she sprung back within his hold immediately, thrashing, kicking, flailing, all instinctual derision and spite. His grip was like the tide, turning her over and over and over again until she was in its throes, and no matter how many times she meandered to the surface, there was naught left. His grip was like a noose, a painful, caustic reminder even when she couldn’t feel any of it; of the slow, unwinding starvation, of the sunburnt boils of her skin, of the seaweed trapped and wrapped around her frame. She must’ve looked like a wild, caged, unhinged animal, fighting for her life when it was only practice –
And then he released her.
She rampaged forward, lungs heaving when they didn’t need to, features covered in a visible snarl.
Mabel had no explanation for her reaction – she shuddered for a few moments, until the girl could find her grip again, staring at the handle he offered, trying to listen to all the words, but everything else was pounding too viciously, too erratically, for her to wrap around them. Something about leverage. Weight. Balance. “I don’t have any of those,” she choked out, shivering again, trying to fathom, understand, but losing it in the scope of that everlasting fear.
And then he released her.
She rampaged forward, lungs heaving when they didn’t need to, features covered in a visible snarl.
Mabel had no explanation for her reaction – she shuddered for a few moments, until the girl could find her grip again, staring at the handle he offered, trying to listen to all the words, but everything else was pounding too viciously, too erratically, for her to wrap around them. Something about leverage. Weight. Balance. “I don’t have any of those,” she choked out, shivering again, trying to fathom, understand, but losing it in the scope of that everlasting fear.
If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see
You will find things that you don't want to see
