Just Breath

In, out, in, out, in, out—each breath a lifeline, a fragile thread knit together connecting heartbeat to heartbeat. Time blurred until courage gathered, and finally, she dared to open her eyes. She stood at the divergence of two paths. The season she’d barely survived was a storm of violence and pain. Her hands had been bound, which rendered her defenseless; she stumbled through days and nights, battered and bruised by countless blows. Her attackers, not monsters but ordinary people, had gorged themselves on irrational fear. That fear poisoned their hearts and clouded their vision, turning her into something different from themselves, something they did not understand, something they despised, something they needed to attack.

In, out, in, out, in, out. The final ordeal had been the most ferocious, leaving deep gouges across her heart. But today, her hands are free. She stands at a crossroads, sunlight fracturing through the leaves. To her left, the path descends into cool shadows. The trees reach out with dark, comforting arms, offering respite from the sun’s harsh glare. Moss cushions the ground, inviting her to step forward. Down that way, the voices of her tormentors’ echo—taunting, slick with arrogance. She is no longer helpless. Revenge is within reach. Yet, another path calls out to her heart.

To the right, the path glimmers in unyielding sunlight—no shadows, no darkness, nowhere to hide. It whispers of hope and hard-won purpose, urging her to shed her pain, her anger, her bitterness. To begin a new adventure. The way is steep, the ground uneven and sharp with scattered stones. This path offers no comfort for her wounds, no outlet for relief for her rage at the cruel treatment, but it does promise growth and new opportunity. It is the road of transformation—arduous, honest, and alive with the possibility of new adventures. It will not be easy, but it holds the promise of becoming something more than her pain.

In, out, in, out, in, out. She glances once more at the shadowed trail. Her heart aches for retribution, for the fierce satisfaction of fighting back. But deep within, she knows: if she sets foot on that downward path, there’s no turning back. Revenge would be thorough and intoxicating, but the price is the loss of this moment—this crossroads where choice still exists. If she instead turns right, she must remain vigilant; one careless step, and she could tumble down, lost to the darkness she longs to leave behind.

The jeers of her attackers rise behind her, sharp as broken glass. She stands still, breath steady, thoughts swirling. She has mapped out countless paths to vengeance—all effective, all consuming. Yet she remains. She waits, gathering strength to loosen her grip on pain. She yearns to choose the ascendant path, to chase new promises and adventures, but the hurt clings stubbornly. So, in, out, in, out, she turns her back on the voices, gathers every fractured part of herself—pain, anger, hope—and steps forward, choosing the difficult path into the light.