Word Count: 537
She fell face first in the dirt and did not get up. The sand stained her plain clothes and the wind tangled her short hair and she lay there, silent tears streaming softly down.
Whoever knew it would hit her so strong? Whoever would have guessed, that beneath the arrogant layers, beneath the confident façade, beneath the brave mask, there were deeply rooted fears? Fears that had been carefully folded away, stitched invisibly into the subconscious heart. Fears that she convinced herself she did not have. Fears that now burst forward like a rushing river crashing past a dam, like a waterfall plunging to its doom, like a tsunami that burst from a harmless puddle.
Her hand clenched into a fist. When did she become this, this person she feared most to be? Was it really all an act? Why couldn’t she now be the person she used to be? Why did everything have to come crashing…now?
And now that she was this…thing…she had so feared, where would she go? Where did the path lead to, and who stood along that path? What must she do to get onto the right path? That is, if there was a right path.
And then the memories. The past that was haunting her, dripping ice into her heart with perverse glee, watching her writhe with fire burning within her mind, trying desperately to keep back the fearsome cold. She wasn’t afraid of the past, but sometimes the aspects of her history that she had worked so hard to keep hidden resurfaced, making present-day connections with remembrances from long ago.
Lachrymal glands gone wild but self all but muted, she scrunched into a ball on the ground and as if clinging to an invisible anchor, she held herself together. Fighting feebly the fiery explosion of feelings that consumed her, she fell, freely fading into the fine fringe of dark gray that blocked out the false reality.
It was over.
The battle had been fought, and lost; at the end there had been a glimmer of something she faintly remembered was called “Hope” or “Faith” or something along those lines, but it was transient. The misery however, was not.
The war was still raging, but she stuck her mind into the course sand she was lying on and pretended it didn’t exist. Tried to. But reality exists within the mind, and what is carved into the mind remains intractably engraved in the mind; thus reminders of failure and present crisis remained immutable ingrained in her conscience, covering any happy graffiti quickly—pride and contentment became as fleeting as an impulse leaping down a myelinated neuron.
Neurons whose sodium and potassium channels soon became stubbornly fixed in a partially open position; they become defected channels and impassionedly leave the pump to maintain a shifty equilibrium.
But what if the pump too, stops functioning?
Because the impulses keep coming, the war keeps raging. She cringed again, knowing perfectly well that she was in a war, that this war had not ended, that this war could not be lost, that this war would determine her fate.
She crumpled up, both mentally and physically, unable to handle anything when she felt overwhelmed.
Artist's Note: Sorry about the brevity of it...
Another apology: Since AP tests are coming up, this will be MY last post until after the AP tests in a few weeks. After the AP tests, I should have more time to do more about my writing/art and there should, theoretically, be more posts or better quality. Theoretically.
I will be posting the character profile mini-poll comment post that explains how it's going to run :) Please comment!