Young Writers Society

I love the ocean, how it swells and surges like a sleeping beast, how it sparkles in the sunlight like a bed of diamonds, how the waves rear into the air like wild horses, the crest curling over to crash onto the bronze sand, the crystal-white foam racing up the beach in hopes of reaching the dunes in the distance. I love the coolness of the water as I dive below the surface, the weightlessness I feel as I hang suspended over the reef below, how my hair floats around my face in golden strands, glowing in the warm sunlight. I love the sharks that swim up to me, curiosity in their black eyes that burn with life, their mouths ajar as they taste the water, their tails swaying through the current lazily, propelling their silvery bodies forward. What I love most, however, is the satisfaction I get when I find an oyster, peel it open to reveal a beautiful pearl sitting on it stongue.

The cool water calls to me, longing for the sparkling view gnawing at my heart. Instead I’m sitting on a couch, a forgotten book open in my lap, as I listen to my husband drone on about his day. I’ve only been married to him for a week, and already I find him insufferable. We’re supposed to be moving to the city in a few days, but I’d been given a week to prepare, because apparently that’s how long it takes for me to pack the minimal belongings I own. It hurts me to know that I won’t be able to swim freely again, because being married to this man means my freedom is gone. I belong to my husband, as every wife does, and my rights extend to the rein my husband has on me. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he was at least interesting, but I’m not privy to such luxury. No, my husband finds that conversations with his wife are long speeches to be sat through in silence reacting with the appropriate facial expressions to indicate I am paying attention. What he finds worthy conversation topics I find to be utterly tedious. What he sees as interesting I find boring. Did I mention the man is utterly insufferable? Well it’s worth mentioning twice.

“I hope you’re nearly ready to leave,” Marick asks with an expectant look on his face.

“Almost,” I lie, wanting to hold off the move for as long as possible.

“You better be, or you can leave the rest of your belongings behind,” he snaps.

I refrain from rolling my eyes. “I suppose you’d be replacing them after moving, then?” I lift a golden eyebrow in a challenge.

Marick grits his teeth. “Don’t push me Dorien, I’ve had a long day. I don’t have the energy to deal with your snarky remarks tonight,” he warns.

“It must have been such a strain, pretending to like people to keep your perfect reputation,” I leer.

Marick narrows his eyes. “Don’t be snide,” he berates.

“I’m not,” I jut out my chin.

Marick sighs and runs his hands over his face. “Your behaviour is atrocious, Dorien. Women are polite, seen and not heard,” he gives me a harsh look. “You won’t last long in the city if you keep this up.”

“The bane of my thoughts,” I quip.

“I swear, woman, if you keep it up I’m going to beat the sarcasm out of you,” Marick snarls.

His words are a slap across the face. I’m not used to such untoward words, or such vehemence in a person’s tone when addressing me. I have been threatened before, but Marick’s words ring with a frightening truth to them.

“Why didn’t you marry someone else?” I ask in a small voice.

“We’re not having this conversation again,” Marick groans, sounding tired.

“Okay,” I rise to my feet and pat down my thighs. “I’m going to bed.”

“No you’re not,” Marick waves a dismissive hand. “Sit down.”

“Marick, I’m tired, I’d like to go to sleep,” I whine.

“I haven’t finished talking to you,” he commands.

A sudden burst of anger sizzles under my skin. “Well I am,” I spit, and spin on my heel to leave the room.

There is a rush of air behind me as I’m shoved into the wall, head hitting the stone with a resounding crack. Black spots dance across my vision as Marick spins me around and wraps a giant hand around my throat. He slowly applies pressure as he glares at me menacingly.

“Let this be a warning to you, Dorien,” he grates out through clenched teeth. “The next time you talk back to me I’ll give you a black eye. Understand?”

“Yes,” I mewl pathetically, vision obscured by involuntary tears.

“Why is it so difficult for you to be polite to me, huh? What’s with the attitude all the time?” He asks, sounding incredulous.

“Because you’re a prick,” I choke out before I can stop myself.

A sharp, stabbing pain fills my stomach as Marick’s fist connects with the soft flesh. He releases my neck and watches me crumple to the floor, choking and wheezing in agony, hands wrapped around my body protectively. My head rises and I lock my gaze onto Marick’s blank face, shock etched onto my features.

“Hopefully you’ve learnt your lesson,” is all he says before storming off.

I remain on the floor until I can breathe normally again. Slowly rising to my feet, I hold a hand to my foggy head and look around the lounge room. My eyes land on the tall windows, so I stumble over to them and quietly turn the latch. They swing open soundlessly, and I slip out into the cool air. My feet move at their own accord, down cobbled roads and passed dark houses and shops, until I’m walking through soft sand, the crash of the waves drowning out the erratic beat of my heart.

The ocean swells and surges like a sleeping beast, the rippling surface sparkling obsidian under the silvery moonlight. The waves rear into the air like wild horses, the crests curling over to crash onto the sand, the glistening foam washing around my feet, the temperature biting into my skin. A smile spreads across my lips as I close my eyes, imagining what the reef will look like in the dark, what the shark’s skin will look like under the silver light, how the deep blue will be a beautiful black.

Without looking back, I walk into the waves, the ocean pulling me into his cold embrace, welcoming me home.

This is the short story I handed in for my English assignment. I haven't gotten it back yet, so I can't say my grade. I have to thank @CandyWizard for getting me to post this. So thanks man :)

The theme is a cultural, global or social issue. I chose oppression of women with an undertone of sexuality, and suicide. I did try to make it as clean as possible while still highlighting the problem. It isn't based off real events, and is set in a fantasy world. I do apologise if it makes anyone upset; suicide isn't a nice subject.