They continued along the path of the shimmering lake – his every three tiny footsteps matching her one. And yet, he kept pace. His heart-beat, his breath, his tiny feet quickening – all to keep pace.
His arm stretched upward as it linked with hers. His tiny hand, tiny fingers, remained engulfed in the sea that was her large palm.
He won’t let go this time.
He looked into the lake, mesmerized by his reflection. Her eyes looked into his own through the reflection on the black water – her eyes warm, loving, inviting.
He stirs in his bed – tossing and turning.
They noticed a baby turtle – overturned, its tiny limbs squirming and wriggling in the air. He tugged on her long swaying dress with a look of sadness. Save it. Save it. Her eyes looked down at him and she smiled. She signaled at him to stay put. He would not move. He felt her grasp loosen until, finally, his tiny hand lacked protection. He was alone.
A sharp pain shoots through his body. His eyelids flutter in madness – wincing in deep pain. Wake up. Wake up. He cannot awaken. He is stuck in this hell indefinitely.
She approached the edge of the lake – crossing the fence and the sign that warned against her next move. All for him. Carefully, she stepped on an unstable rock, attempting to flip the flailing turtle over.
Black. All he can see is black. The movie playing in his head nears the end and all he can feel is fear, agony, and black.
The black water stirred below her pale feet. Her arms moved about like those of the turtle. Somewhere in the near distance, a little boy screamed in pain – a pain that would forever be embedded in his mind. Her face quickly changed to a pallid color – her smile wiped away and replaced with a look of distress. Slowly, as if in a film, she fell, her now tiny and frail body engulfed in the black monster.
Gasp. He awakes, heaving. He finds himself breathing one hundred miles per hour. His body is drenched in sweat. His ashen face is stained with tears of anguish. His agony forces him to wish his exhausted eyelids to never again close, again. Because, in the end, he can’t let go. He can never let go.
© Nureen Gulamali
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I really can't say where this story popped out from - a very muddled mind, indeed. I suppose I was feeling a sense of living with one's regrets - even those that we are not directly responsible for.
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