Finding Isla

Trigger Warning - This fictional work contains moments of violence, assault, near sexual assault, and verbal/emotional abuse. Please be aware that they are brief and not overly graphic. Please read only if you are comfortable with this.

Isla

Soul deep peace is all I feel right now. One of those moments when everything feels so right, it’s almost overwhelming.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The night air is thick with the sweet scent of slow moving fresh water, but the smells of autumn are in the air as well. Pine trees, damp grass, decomposing leaves, and a trace of wood smoke. The creek flows below my dangling feet, its steady rhythm nearly masking every other sound, except for the soft, reassuring hoot of a nearby owl. It’s an almost hypnotic setting, so peaceful that I’m tempted to drift off right here on the bridge. But I know better; a change of scenery doesn't keep the nightmares away.

The dreams began about a year ago, recurring at least once a week with haunting consistency. They’re always the same: indistinct faces hovering above me, unwanted hands, and the terrifying sensation of being pinned down. I’m paralyzed by a fear so intense that the screams I hear feel like they belong to someone else. 

By the time I jerk awake gasping for air, I’m shivering in sweat, my body is rigid with tension, and my cheeks are stained with salt. Every day, the exhaustion I feel is bone-deep. But the fear of closing my eyes again is even stronger.

To avoid the nightmares I dread, I push myself to stay awake until my body simply gives out, hoping that pure fatigue will grant me a dreamless sleep.

This evening I had wandered through our quiet, orderly home for over an hour, searching for any small task to occupy my hands. Since it’s only Aunt Nancy and I living together, there is rarely any clutter to manage. Giving up on the interior, I moved to the gardens outside, scanning for any stray weeds that might have emerged overnight. The blossoms were beautiful, and the autumn vegetables were thriving exactly as planned. Aside from discovering a small cluster of mature grapes, I found everything in its proper place. 

Deciding I might as well enjoy the sunset and perfect weather, I settled in on the patio to appreciate the garden's ambiance while reading. I made it through two chapters before a squabble between our resident gray squirrels, Hide and Seek, interrupted my focus. 

Their names perfectly describe their dynamic: Hide diligently stashes the best nuts throughout the yard, while Seek, a persistent troublemaker, unearths them for his own nest. It looked like the thief had finally been caught red-handed…or gray-pawed. I watched, laughing, as they chased each other across the lawn and through the trees, screeching, chirping, and squawking as they went. Their chaotic energy eventually drove away the bees and hummingbirds, but the hour spent observing them was truly enjoyable, providing a rare moment of contentment.

Giving up on my book, I stood and stretched my arms out, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly to shake off the restlessness. Checking the time on my watch, I saw that it was only 8:30pm. Aunt Nancy wouldn't be home from her shift until 11:30pm. Since I had been living with her for the last year, I had grown accustomed to the quiet house during her long hours away. But being used to being alone doesn’t make it less lonely. Tonight, I decided to start my nightly walk a little bit early, hoping the crisp air would clear my head and heart.

Daylight had long since surrendered to the night, leaving behind a sky painted in breathtaking gradients of blue. High above, the full moon hung suspended in a cradle of inky darkness. I let my gaze drift down from the deep navy heights through layers of cobalt and cerulean that hugged the horizon. It was a stunning sight, yet it carried a bittersweet reminder that the warmth is fading and the long chill of winter is drawing near. 

While I usually stick close to home, tonight I found myself wandering through the quiet streets of town, soaking in the rare stillness of a place that is typically humming with life. With most residents gathered at the high school stadium for the football game, I could hear the distant roar of the crowd and the announcer’s muffled voice echoing from half a mile away, a stark contrast to the silence around me.

Wanting to avoid the rush of traffic once the game ended, I stayed away from the main street and followed the moon-shadowed path behind the library. Lost in thought, my feet led me instinctively to one of my favorite spots: the footbridge. 

That’s how I ended up here.

I’m sitting on the railing, lost in the moonlit moment, when a deep male voice cuts through the dark and says, “Hey, you don’t want to do that. Maybe you should consider putting your feet back on the bridge side of the railing?”

Startled, I turn my head towards the sound of his voice, but I can’t see anyone in the cover of the overhanging trees. Trying to sound confident, I reply with my most assertive voice, “I’m just sitting here, I promise. I’m not going to jump and hurt myself.” Then I raise two fingers like I’m making a pledge, “Scout’s honor.” Though I’m a bit rattled by his sudden appearance, and I hope he can’t tell.

“I’m not sure I buy that,” he counters, “mostly because I’m fairly certain you weren’t a scout.”

There’s a touch of dry humor in his tone as he moves closer from the direction of the park and now I can see him. 

I’m not sure if he wants to talk to me or just feels obligated to at this point so I try to give him an easy out. “I’m sure you have better ways to spend your night. Besides, I’m not really into chatting with strange men in the dark.” I let the sentence hang, hoping he’ll move on so I can return to the solitude of a place that holds no bad memories for me.