The Lexicon

There are words and phrases jumping through my mind, not quite forming a coherent thought. Laughing, crying, moaning, what do they want me to say?

I try to force them onto the page.

"Come," she whispered, “Come to me."

Her voice was soft and inviting. He took a step toward her, hesitatingly and she reached out a hand. The slender fingers beckoned to him.

“Come. Come to me. I’ll not harm you.”

No. My thoughts aren't ready to take him there. I see the pictures, but the words are jumbled.

He's crouched low now, watching her. He rocks back and forth, trying to remember the long ago security of his father's arms. He can't find it and he scrowls at her, wanting to scream, "Go away! I won't go with you!" But he can't say it. He frowns at her. His brow is scrunched so hard it's hurting him.

She's floating above him. Like an angel? Like a wraith? It makes him feel so vulnerable. A smile barely brushes her lips. Her eyes are soft. He can't read them. The tilt of her head says more than the words.

Suddenly the fear swells, overwhelming him. He struggles against the terror. He holds his head with both hands, rocking faster. Not looking at her. He wants to vomit. To cry. To run. Can he outrun her? Can he even stand?

I stop thinking. I don't want to know the ending. Not yet. Not tonight.