“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”
And I’m in. The cold overtakes me. A gasping breath is pushed out of my lungs, arms stinging, legs flailing. The rock I am sitting on is digging into my lower back, which I cannot feel anymore. Who knew water could stab you so efficiently? A million pinpricks skim along my skin, my nerves screaming and shouting. Where have my toes gone? I feel how white they are, drained of essential blood rushing back to preserve my vital organs.
And then silence. Thirty seconds in, and all is silence. My skin has become a carapace, a shield, my protector. The slip slap of the water echoes as it softly collides with an icy rock. The snow is blinding yet calm in front of me as the morning sun emerges to strike it full of crystals. Silence.
It’s back. Pain is suffocating me. My back is compressed from the inside out. And now the white layer of snow is glaring at me, adding offence to my eyes as my body reminds me it is slowly freezing. An ice cube, I am going to be an ice cube. How long until hypothermia kicks in? What am I doing here?
Deep breaths. In, and out. The cold is my friend. Suddenly he is here - his voice clear and crisp to my addled mind:
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” A sudden giddiness feeds my smile as the two eternal minutes come to an end.
Success!
Pride!
Pure elation.
About the Creator
Emmy B
I write some of my truths, and use words to weave stories and ideas together. Writing is a passion and an outlet for me and I hope to inspire, challenge, or simply be a reflection of others's experiences - to make people feel seen!
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins6 days ago in Fiction
When the commoners fight back
We had just reached the top of the hill when I turned around and shouted to Henry to hurry up. He had just jumped over the low boundary wall, his arm outstretched, and was running towards me and Jully. He was so close, just a little further and we could hold hands again. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and everything went still. Jully screamed something behind me, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. I looked at Henry, and he looked back at me with eyes full of love, sadness, and pain. My eyes didn't follow his body as it fell, instead, they stayed put and locked with the most hated man, my eyes met the cold, dark, golden eyes of Sherrif Goodard. As I watched him load another bullet and roll it into the chamber, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I could hear the clink of the metal as it clicked into place. I didn't move, I couldn't really, because I was numb. I just glared down at the Sheriff, ready to accept my fate and hopefully join Henry in the skies. I didn't flinch as the gun was raised and aimed at my chest. The bang came again, and the bullet whizzed past me. But it didn't hit me. Jully had yanked me by the arm off the hill and pulled me forward as she ran into the woods beyond. I could still hear the marching of footsteps and clamor of voices as they pursued us, but they were too slow in their chunky, iron armor. Jully led me down an old path into the trees, but I didn't know where we were going. All I could think about was the image of Henry's face just before he fell and the little words he whispered. They sent my whole world spinning and crashing and healing, and I was a mess. Finally, we reached a large hole in a tree, and Jully pushed me inside before ducking under a bunch of vines. We were both safely hidden. The silence was worse than all the chaotic noise. My chest heaved as tears stung in my eyes, and my throat bobbed to keep from crying out. His bright eyes stared at mine, and his mouth moved, over and over in my head, listening to those words repeatedly. "I love you, little star."
By Digi Dragon 052 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Ouuuu this is so awesome - every moment was so vividly told. I love this perspective on the challenge!
I went on this journey with you, the stages, one giving way to another, the relief of containment. Excellent.
Ooh, chillingly fascinating story!!! Great work!!!
arggggh, an icy dip! No thanks. Nicely done, Emmy.
Super!!! Excellent story!!!