Through my mind I walk, returning to a scene seemingly soft and sweet. A young girl, of 13, salty winds caressing her hair. Pale fingers on pale hands feeling through the sand, perhaps searching for the bottom. The stars catch the attention of her empty eyes from time to time, delivering her to thoughts of worlds far away from the pale blue dot she has found herself upon.
Her mind is endlessly restless, nighttime is no longer a time for sleep. It’s a time for waiting. Wait for the footsteps. Wait for the door to creak further, further. Wait, and wish, for it to end. Wait for the strangely coveted sound of labored breathing. Wait for the feelings to go away (they still haven’t). She is a young heart aching from a pain it cannot name, cannot describe.
She delivers the punishment, keeping the lion’s share for herself.
Now and then I find her there, buried by the sand.