Staying

Everyone felt the wave was coming.

They had been predicting it.

Sailor-men standing at the shore, with their hands above their eyes, pointing at the distance. They told me to let her flow. To let her get me without protest.

I was hiding in the barn, looking at the wooden wall, with my hands on the straw. Head down, black eyes. There was a small stove in the corner, and a kettle was boiling. Some women were protecting the door. They were whispering, looked in my direction at set times, making sure I was fine. Men tried to get inside, but my guards sent them out ruthlessly.

The first wave came from below.
It hit me fast.
More intrusive than expected. For seconds I couldn't breathe, gasping, trying to get my head above the waterline.

The second one broke me down. My body rose up - ready to fight, not wanting to give up so quickly. An Indian woman came up to me, and pushed me back. She forced me to stay on the bed. Another one rubbed my waist. They were gentle, but their faces emotionless. They offered tea. Food was too dangerous.

With the third the sweat streamed down my hair. Black mixed with red. There was no screaming, all voice had stopped. Maybe my organs were on the outside, blood everywhere. The oldest of the women knew it was about time. She came closer, our eyes met. They tried to tell me something.

And suddenly I remembered.
It was what I had known all along, but it had been erased by a too easy life. In a split second, right before the final stroke, I finally knew what to do. My veins confronted the wave and I,
I managed
to
___sur
_____ren
________der.