Paranormal Connection
There are several pieces of her life that Martinique can't remember. All of which share several things in common:
...the pond in the wood
...the house in the swamp
...the scream that no one else hears. Or do they?
Martinique wasn’t paying attention at all to her surroundings, so it was only natural that she wouldn’t have noticed that, years later, the difference of the pond wouldn’t create an alarm for her, as it had for the people of the town. She was only seven years old, making any memory of the moment uneventful either way, and was the most innocent child with the looks of an angel. Her hair was blonde, almost white in the daylight, and her skin was pearl white like she had been carved from marble by the divine. Her parents, naturally, would be overprotective of this perfect child and in all ways oversensitive for her safety. Martinique was only allowed one hour of play each day during their vacation, and with whom was decided by her father.
She would have thought it a waste of day to sit inside and read when it was summer. There was a pond across the street and through the woods that she and Cat had discovered the day before. The water was crystal clear, with small schools of brightly scaled fish that every so often would rise and kiss the surface of the water, leaving light ripples that melted away by the time they would reach the shore.
“What I wouldn’t give to swim right now.” She said aloud. Her parents wouldn’t care, even if they had heard her heart’s greatest desires. Sweat was pouring down her forehead as she flipped through the pages, checking to see if there were really any pictures in this book like her father had promise. They had fought that day over whether or not she was too old for picture books, but Martinique didn’t know anyone her age reading novels yet. It was always upsetting how her parents thought she should be more than expected by her society. Even when it entailed hours of work when it was beautiful outside.
“Of Mice and Men,” she read again to herself, closing the book entirely to give up. There must have been twenty ideas on the page that she didn’t understand.
“…Martinique!”
“…Martinique! It’s your mother!”
“…Martinique!” It was all she could hear. She wanted to scream or make them know where she was. But she couldn’t move…or speak…or breathe. Something was holding her in the water, not under the water, and the cold splash made her incapable of most thought. No one was there.
“You are beautiful.”
“You are wonderful.”
“You are strong.”
“You are smart.”
“You are perfect.”
When Martinique woke up, back in the house she had dreaded seeing the entire vacation, she hadn’t remembered any of the events of the night before.
She would have thought it a waste of day to sit inside and read when it was summer. There was a pond across the street and through the woods that she and Cat had discovered the day before. The water was crystal clear, with small schools of brightly scaled fish that every so often would rise and kiss the surface of the water, leaving light ripples that melted away by the time they would reach the shore.
“What I wouldn’t give to swim right now.” She said aloud. Her parents wouldn’t care, even if they had heard her heart’s greatest desires. Sweat was pouring down her forehead as she flipped through the pages, checking to see if there were really any pictures in this book like her father had promise. They had fought that day over whether or not she was too old for picture books, but Martinique didn’t know anyone her age reading novels yet. It was always upsetting how her parents thought she should be more than expected by her society. Even when it entailed hours of work when it was beautiful outside.
“Of Mice and Men,” she read again to herself, closing the book entirely to give up. There must have been twenty ideas on the page that she didn’t understand.
“…Martinique!”
“…Martinique! It’s your mother!”
“…Martinique!” It was all she could hear. She wanted to scream or make them know where she was. But she couldn’t move…or speak…or breathe. Something was holding her in the water, not under the water, and the cold splash made her incapable of most thought. No one was there.
“You are beautiful.”
“You are wonderful.”
“You are strong.”
“You are smart.”
“You are perfect.”
When Martinique woke up, back in the house she had dreaded seeing the entire vacation, she hadn’t remembered any of the events of the night before.
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