THE STENCH OF sea salt clung to everything.
A tiny whispering, red rage flickered in the cavity of her chest. It’s fierce ghostly edges threatened to sharpen her words, annoyance and fury slicing the faces of those who had interfered with her sleep. Because if there was anything she detested and made her boil seethe with fury, it was having her sleep disrupted.
When she had made a decision and was perfectly happy, once she knew the time schedule, to slip back into a hour of sleep.
But really, she sneered bitterly at herself, it was her own fault. She had asked and then her mind had kept going, and any chance of sleeping longer, as she wished to, vanished like a mist punctured by the dawn. There was no changing it.
The red rage fluttered, embers spitting hot sparks into her heart so it ached.
All she wanted to do now was cry. But that was foolish. She was unhappy and she hadn’t wanted to start like that. But assigning blame was no good either.
Red fury would be better than the grey despondency.
Written: 23 Sept 2015