The book hit the water with a splash. For a second it floated on the surface, before sinking lower under the water, as though weighed down by the words penned in it.
And as it slowly dropped further, the water turned black around it. It was bleeding, bleeding ink. Thousands of words slowly leaching away into the water, years of scribbling melting away in a black cloud.
She watched it dip further and further away from her, feeling a torrent of emotions. The sharp tugging of nostalgia and attachment screaming at her to grab the book before it was too late, to salvage it as best she could. Surely there would be words left in it yet. Sacred, beautiful, beloved words. Words that she could touch, reread, even though they were branded in her memory.
But swamping it was a tidal wave of relief, and a strange lightness. The words had trapped her in a neverending maze of painful memories, catacombs of catastrophe, labyrinths of languish. And now that she was rid of it, they would stop haunting her. Maybe, now, she would have a nights’ sleep where she wouldn’t wake screaming, tearing at the sheets with desperate fingers;sweat clamming her forehead, trickling down her face, soaking,drenching her hair. Maybe now she could move forward with whatever life would bring. Maybe she could feel her lips curve in a smile, at long last. Feel the fulfillment that laughter would bring.
Funny, how throwing away a bundle of pages could bring such relief.
And as the book disappeared from view, she smiled.