Very long ago, I wrote a short fiction piece called 'Flailing Arms, Quiet Surrender'. Today, I found myself with a follow up, and decided to try a new direction to this story. Comments welcome.
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It was a dead end. He had failed.
And so had she.
When he met her all those years ago, he heard her, felt her, and found comfort around her. She closed him out but he was determined to heal her. Only... his determination faded faster than his t-shirt.
He hadn't realised it would be this tough. Or this emotional. There was history, so much history, behind all her complexities. And with every page he turned he got terrified. "Maybe I will only make it worse." "Maybe I can't handle this. She needs someone stronger."
She had started opening up. Revealing secrets. Sharing fears. She was starting to believe he was strong. Maybe strong enough to stay. And rebuild her. She would rebuild him too. She hoped to patch up his insecurities, his fears, with smiles, words and a comforting presence just like he had done with her.
He didn't want to be rebuilt. She was patching him up and he feared getting lost. Losing his past. Slipping away from the sharp edges he loved to toy with.
What do you do when one side of the sinking boat tries to float and find the sky, while the other is eyeing the seabed delightfully?
The boat broke. And so did they. She lost sight of the sky, always hiding from the light and never to try to float again. And he found his seabed, familiar and welcoming, dark and deep.
March 2017
