Gasping for Breath (contest entry)

The sun had hidden itself behind the New York skyline, yet it’s light still lingered like the warmth of a kiss.

The lights of the city turned on one by one, like the eyes of some great nocturnal insect stirring from sleep. It sent a chill up Mary’s spine just to think of it. The newly finished bridge stood out like a scar across the face of the river. Yet, like any good scar, it gave the whole place character, and to Mary, was like the final stroke of a brush on a canvass.

She smiled, watching a large ship cross the harbor causing all the smaller ships to dance in it’s wake. Then she laid back on her blanket against the grass of the high bank where she was perched. She breathed in the night air, and watched the last bits of warm light fade against the stars.

A faint voice called from somewhere far, “Mary.”

She closed her eyes, “Not yet,” she moaned.

“MARY!” Her mother’s voice was angry and hot. She opened her eyes, and found herself back in her room, on her bed, staring at the painting of the Brooklyn Bridge on her ceiling.

“Sorry,” she said to her mother, who stood cross armed in the doorway. Mary could see that she was more worried than angry, but being worried always made her angry, so it was all the same.

“Sometimes it’s like you’re not even there. I called your name four times! Couldn’t you hear me?”

“No, I’m sorry, I was somewhere else.”

“But you’re ALWAYS somewhere else!”

Mary didn’t want to argue, instead she curled up like a turtle and hid beneath her blankets. Her mother yanked them off.

“Not now. We’re going shopping. Get dressed! We’re leaving in 5 minutes.” Her mother left.

Mary's was heart racing.

“I don’t want to go,” she told herself, curling up tighter. Her room was her world. Her paintings, which covered her walls, and her books, which overflowed from every shelf: they were where she belonged. Outside she was just a fish flopping on the deck, frightened, and gasping for breath.

She looked over at a picture of the sunset over the mountains. It was one of her favorites. She could feel her legs dangling off the cliff, the brilliant rays of light on her face, the chilled air filling her lungs.

“4 minutes Mary!” Her mother yelled from somewhere down the hall.

“Why does she feel like she has to make me do things?”

Tears of frustration flooded her eyes, but there was no escaping. She rolled out of bed, grabbed her Mp3 player from her desk, and stuffed the ear buds in her ears. It was her air supply, like a diver on the ocean floor, or an astronaut in space. She knew her mother saw these things as a distraction, something that separated her from reality, but to Mary she was already separate, and these things were all that were keeping her alive.