The Waters of Nyra- Volume I by Kelly Michelle Baker

Author:Kelly Michelle Baker [Baker, Kelly Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781981116348
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2017-11-26T04:30:00+00:00

Part II

Ocean

Chapter 7: In

Amid a thousand droplets, the prisoner spattered back to shore. White water kicked up over its face. It could hardly see or smell. The suns above vanished behind the monster, chasing. Always chasing.

Too shallow. The shore was always far too shallow. If only it had reached the depths. There it would have had a fighting chance.

But it had not made it. It believed it could. For so long, hope was the undying companion in a world of none. That and the capybaras—their cries widening its trifle affection for this horrible place, their squeals in death reminders of its own mortality.

It had friends here. But not of its kind.

Curving talons, arthritically frozen, narrowed to its tender skin.

A sting, a leap, and the prisoner crashed safely between the pillars growing from the rocky beach. It fled deep into the towers.

Safe.

Shrill howls bled through the skies as the monster staggered away to a distant perch.

Obscured by sandy rock, the prisoner shook on ragged feet. It drooped on each breath.

There had been two options. Both were liberating. Both were old. But both were resolute. Doubled fates had shimmered through the years like stars, pulling in opposite directions. At any time, one would take its place in eternity.

But the prisoner had not achieved either. At the last moment it had given into that cowardly third option: to run back.

It needed only to reach the depths. There it would dive deep into the sea, out of the monster’s lair. It would make it or not make it. It would be free by the skies or eaten alive. Both freedom.

Neither.

Instead it’d run away.

The prisoner no longer measured the time, for the days had stretched on so long they made a timepiece in its mind, ticking, ticking, scratching on an open wound.

Today, and for forever, the scratching would carry on. Because it had run. Because it was a coward. The very misery it loathed, the despair that often threatened to take its life, would never leave, like chronic illness. Forever it’d be sick, until it learned to commit to fate; race to the sea or to the jaws.

Until then, the question of decades would circle numbingly in its brain:

What now?

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