His leather belt


It was at the peak of the mountain that my adventure began. I had ran out of the house, my eyes still stinging from the tears, my heart uplifted, with nothing in my makeshift bag other than my old wallet and the four apples I had grabbed on the way.

This was it. This night was IT. I had finally left him! I had really done it! I was really running down the dirt road, down the hill, to the port, to the boat that would take me away!

This air that I was breathing, this fresh ocean air: it was MINE!

I wasn’t breathing because he expected me to: my lungs were mine again. My legs were mine again. For the first time, they were taking me to a place of MY choice, aware that they would never be whipped by his leather belt again.

My plan was made. I would go down to the port, pay a few coins for the taxi-boat, and get away from the land of my childhood.

As soon as I would reach the other side, I would keep walking. I would walk until dawn came. I would walk through the sun rising up and going down again. Then, I would walk some more. Walk until reaching the wooden house I had seen in the book. Surely it existed; surely, I would find it.

How long was this plan in my mind? Was it always ingrained in a fold of my brain or had it crept inside my head one day, making such little noise that I had not heard it?

There was a silence in the night.

Suddenly, a shiver ran down my spine. It was the cold realization of my own foolishness. What was I doing? What was I expecting? Who was I fooling, thinking that I could run away?

I paused, turned around, and walked back up the hill.

URL: http://www.flickr.com/photos/yasserphotogaphy/3513277549/


~ by seaofcurls on May 12, 2009.

One Response to “His leather belt”

  1. wow @.@ u should really write a book you have a wonderful writing style that draws the person into ur words and characters and makes them feel what the characters feeling. But i know how much u want to write in french (buuu) so i hope any future book u write will be translated into english.

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