Inhuman Relations #11
There is a sudden constriction around your throat, an unrelenting, choking hold. Startled, you reflexively battle to draw breath, inhaling in a lungful of bitter, black water. It doesn't seem so warm and pleasant anymore - not with this fierce burning in your chest and the instinctive need to cough out water that just cannot be ignored. Bubbles escape from your lips and nostrils, streaming upwards to burst upon the surface far, far above, deserting you in the murk. Bringing your hands up to your neck, you writhe and claw at a disembodied foe, the lack of air leaving you with the sensation that something cloying is seeping into your mind, though the thought is swept away as quickly as you register it.
And then, without warning or any weakening of power, the choke hold disappears, as if it was never there to begin with. Your lungs are near bursting now, desperate for a breath of cool, fresh air, a white-hot pain burning lancing through your torso as you need to breathe, get this water out of your lungs and out of the gods cursed lake! Spots of colour cloud your vision as you blearily reach out for the bow, finally securing it into your hands and into safety.
Sluggish and reeling in an air deprived daze, you draw the bow in close to your chest and kick out for the surface, your throat smarting from the unseen pressure, imagining that there are a series of imprints upon your neck, where the invisible assailant reaches out again. Though the light filters more clearly through the water now, your thoughts remain down in the dreary channels, as if pond weed is wrapped around your legs, dragging you down into the sordid depths, unwilling to release you from its slimy hold...
Written by Amethyst Mare on 21 June 2012
