On the lake.
Day 15 of my 100-day writing project.
Inching further, staying afloat.
Moving slower, for it was just a boat.
The night was eerie and a hyena laughed in the distance, the sound echoing across the lake and travelling towards me — alone, on a boat.
The darkness was darker than dark could ever get and my fright was wedged tightly between the realms of rational choice and emotional attachment.
I couldn't move. My thoughts sounded like indistinct chatter to me, I felt the whole jungle could hear it — loud and clear, and yet, I couldn’t. It was all just a garbled mix. An indistinct chatter.
Should I, or should I not?
My feet were cold and my lips quivered. I felt the blood draining out of my face. The lake gleamed but everything was silent. I wanted to jump off the boat, swim and get to the other end. But I couldn’t.
Did I see him smile?
Not sure. After hours of agony, I felt safer on the boat, the silence was not scary anymore. The air seemed warmer, the silence was soothing. The sun began to rise and my lips curved into a smile, too.
The tranquility was mesmerising, natural silence began to flow, filling the void, forcing him to breathe. The shades of the lake seemed to be a mirror of his own eyes. What if he WAS the lake?
I could see my child swimming towards me, gurgling, giggling, comforting and confusing me.
My womb is a lake and I'm the boat. I can't wait to meet you soon.