Malice and I

 Malice and I walk along the pier. The bay is illusively dreamy, coated in silver luster, covered in ripples, like the waves in her hair along the side of her wet head when she steps out of the water in the morning. It looks like the scaly back of a fish swimming in shattered glass under the orange bridge. The air is different tonight. Instead of the usual salty odor, the smell of brass and copper fills my nose, like breathing in ferrous ions of an old penny.  Her skin is luminous in the light where the last remaining ounces of sunlight cascade onto her neck, throwing an edible soft caramel glow into my eyes. She has my hand in hers and smiles wickedly at me, parting her rose red lips, with her green eyes scanning the water. I wonder if she wants to push me in. She knows that I can’t swim when she is holding my head under the water.

 

So I jump.

 

Taking in a deep breath on my way off the edge, my feet hit the cold water, shooting ice up my spine. As the water swallows my body, I feel my dress fill up with the souls of drowned men before me.  

 

I become weightless.

 

I can feel the vibrations of her laughter above water before she dives in behind me. Like a stingray, she effortlessly glides to my side, brushing her hips against mine. I lunge myself harder through the water, pulling my body with my arms through the resistant heavy waves. Malice grabs my shoulders and pulls me back, her nails digging into my collarbone. I gasp from the sharp pain and salty wet fills my mouth. As I turn over in an effort to pull her off, I break my head above the water to catch a breath. I know that she will pull me under.

I free my legs from within the layers of my dress and kick her away, liberating my shoulders from her grasp and I swim, propelling my body toward the beige, rocky shore. I can hear her giggling at her malevolent sport, floating gracefully behind me on her back. As the water becomes shallower, I fold my body in a way to crawl upright on the rocks and balance myself in an effort to climb against their jagged, merciless edges.

 

She is waiting for me on the shore, with her knees bent and arms folded around them, chin resting on the peaks of her knees with her eyes glaring at mine in impiety. I pull up next to her, spitting out salty water and gasping to regain breath back into my aching chest.  She is laughing harder now than before.

 

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to play today?” She asks as her eyes challenge mine to meet hers.

 

I really hate this game.