The darkness crept along the outside edge of the door. Like smokey tendrils it fingered its way up the wall and clustered in a far corner of the ceiling. There it waited, quietly, unnoticed.

When enough of it had collected, the darkness snaked across the popcorned finish, down the arch that led to the cozy room where she sat, legs tucked unter her, covered in the cream afghan knit by her grandmother. It slinked across the hardwood floor, across the second-hand rug, and enveloped her, leather chair and all.

The weight of it was suffocating.

It seemed so slight a form, its particles each insignificant, but taken as a whole, it had the strength to slowly push her entire body. First the heaviness, next she hunched under it,

then she bent

down,

down,

until she was folded, chest on legs flattened. She felt the weight, fought for breath against the darkness that threatened to crush her, cell by cell.

She tried to inhale but each shallow breath was poisoned by the cloud. It invaded her eyes, her thoughts, her neck, her mind.

She had forgotten.

In her lack of air, in her confusion, her sorrow, she forgot. When the thought entered her awareness, she was unsure of herself, it was so long since she tried. But the smothering darkness infiltrated her lungs and she knew it would not be long before she succumbed. She would go down and never re-emerge. The death, fear, disappointment, wrongs, shame, abandonment, rejection and heartache would claim her as their own and she would not resurface.

She clung to a warm day spent along the river, a day when hope and love frisked alongside her, darting in and out of wild daisies and rose bushes, then back again, almost tripping her as they wove in-between her feet. She filled her mind with this day.

She pressed against the heft of her sorrow,

strained,

and began to sweat as she insisted again what would trap her.

The darkness fell in shards around her as she pushed her way free.

As she flew out of the chair,

the living room,

down the hall and out into the crisp winter night,

she remembered.

She had always known how to fly.

\\\\\

This post came from a word prompt during a write-in with Story Sessions. If you’re curious to find out more about them, they’re having a Twitter party this Thursday, February 27th, from 7p-9p CST, using the hashtag #jointhestory.

Do you have to strain against the darkness? What keeps you bent under its heaviness? Most importantly, how can you reclaim your ability to fly?