The Storm Within

***Contains themes of depression, self harm, and mild gore

Cold, ruthless waves towered hundreds of feet toward the dark clouds, crashing down violently against one another as the ocean waged war on itself. Freezing wind screams and whips the water into a frenzy as thunder roared, tearing through the sky like a wild beast unleashed. The darkness enveloping the scene was so profound that the sky, the water, and even the air seemed to merge, each a mere variation of the deepest void. This storm was unsurvivable, unforgiving and relentless, and in the heart of the tempest, she fought desperately for her life.

Flailing in the turbulent water, she struggled valiantly to keep her head above the surface while fierce riptides pulled her deeper into the abyss. No matter how fiercely she kicked and swam, the overwhelming waves crashed down upon her, allowing only fleeting moments of respite. She fought hopelessly for breath as the ocean tossed her like a ragdoll, the power of the sea mocking her plight. Just when she managed to catch a breath, it would hurl her back into the depths, whispering cruelly that she should surrender, that survival was beyond her grasp, that she was too frail to endure the wrath of the fury.

She fought with every ounce of energy that she had, her body exhausted. Though relentlessly abused and beaten down by this storm, survival instinct pushed her further. Lightning illuminated the dark sky just yards away, its brilliance followed by thunder that reverberated through her very bones. Caught off guard, another wave - this one much larger than the rest - toppled upon her, and she slipped into a riptide. She was thrust into the tumultuous waters, feeling as though her lungs were on the verge of

bursting. She struggled to escape, but every effort was futile.

Why was she even fighting? It was utterly pointless; victory was a hazy dream. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to resist; trying to fight a storm of this magnitude was hopeless. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the current that pulled her down. In that moment, the storm transformed: it no longer loomed menacingly over her, but watched like a caring mother. Perhaps, she mused, her surrender would bring peace. The furious riptide softened to a gentle stream, lulling her toward a tranquil place, where, in death, she might finally be free. The allure of peace beckoned to her comfortingly as the wind and waves danced playfully on the surface.

Yet, something stirred within her, prompting her to open her eyes. She was spit out to the surface, coughing water out of her lungs. She caught sight of a tiny island, swam frantically towards it, and scrambled unsteadily onto the black sand. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as the coarse surface bit into her palms. Glancing down, she realized that what she thought was sand was actually ragged shards of glass, glinting ominously. Overwhelmed, she curled into a tight ball, sobbing and trembling, still choking on the salt in her lungs. The air stung like acid, and the rain fell with the ferocity of knives. Each drop sliced her skin and blood seeped from every pore, reopening old scars and carving new ones. Worse than this, the pain in her mind left her writhing on the ground. Screaming and clawing at her wounds, she mindlessly seized handfuls of glass between her palms, the pain almost relieving. The battle between her own despair and the suffering that surrounded her was unbearable. She was caught in an unyielding struggle, fighting not just the storm but the darkness within herself.

Escape, safety, and solace were nowhere to be found. No matter where she went, she stood no chance. Everything in this place was designed to seek and destroy. Her physical body may have been hurt, but it would not fail. The goal was not to physically destroy her, but to devastate her willpower. As she lay on the shattered glass, tearing herself apart, she knew the goal had been met. Driven by the unbearable pain she’d give anything to end, she threw herself into the sea. She didn’t care if she drowned, just so long as the agony ended.

She was unaware, though, that she didn’t have to fight alone. People surrounded her, just beyond her reach only because she refused to extend her hand. If she had permitted herself to see the others who were standing right beside her, maybe she could have made it out alive. The shadows on her heart whispered lies of isolation, drowning out the voices of those who cared.

*Author's Note:

Hi everyone! Thanks for reading my story! Since it's not quite 1,000 words, I'm going to provide a brief backstory (I lied, there is still so much extra space... These short stories were, I suppose, a little too short). This is part of a strange little series that will be published out of order, since I have to wait to find a prompt that suits each one before publishing. I wrote this piece in 10th grade, influenced heavily by my own experiences and mental health at the time, for a statewide writing competition. I didn't win the state level, but this story won grade level and even went further to win the regional level! There was an original error in the published story that won; when moving a few sentences around, I'd accidentally repeated the phrase "tossed her like a ragdoll" and hadn't even realized it! (Oh, I was so embarrassed when a friend pointed it out, but this experience reminded me to slow down and check myself, as well as the humbling reminder that I made mistakes.) I have made no other edits to the story, so this is raw 14-year-old energy right here. Remember to take criticism with grace, and be thankful when someone helps you see your mistakes. Take every opportunity to improve your writing, and let your writing reflect who you are. Have a great day, and thanks again for taking the time to be here!