Beached

The remains of my only hope of survival drift ashore. Wooden debris surrounds me, as if the ocean were mocking me – showing me its power and aggression. It could have let me go to freedom if it wanted, but it didn’t. Like everyone else back home, the ocean wanted to see me suffer, it’s no different.
The cuts on my feet sting as sand becomes caught in my bleeding wounds. I almost fear walking. I know it will hurt… Maybe I should just lie back and wait for the tide to come in, then drag me back out to sea. Let it finish me off.

My side hurts…

The sun glares off the seemingly innocent surface of the ocean, blinding me whenever my gaze moves forward. Everything is against me. The water. The sand. The sun. Wanting to kill me, hurt me, blind me.

I can feel pins and needles in my side - going numb…

No one will ever find me. If I can barely survive in a civilized society, how will I survive here on my own?
I’m always looking for the easy way out… But I tried this time. I really did.

The feeling in my side is almost unbearable now. I have to see.

The barrel of a gun is wedged between the ground and my hip… Tightly… I noticed the pain but I didn’t notice the gun. I forgot all about the firearm being amongst the wreckage. Maybe because I didn't need it until now.
I pick up the handgun and hold it in my hand, staring at it. It’s almost peaceful in its own deceptive way. The logical side of me, the honest side of me, the side of me that still cares, says for me to throw it away. Into the ocean. Forget about it. Let the tide get rid of it. But the selfish side of me says to keep it. Think about it. It could be the answer to all my problems. It will be the answer to all my problems.
I’m always looking for the easy way out.