There’s no sound in my head when it starts to hurt.
I hear the slow thudding of my heart, but my mind has slowed, my thoughts on hold as I struggle to handle the pain.
I look at my hands, they are a shade of purple threat your knuckles need not ever be.
Not because of a fight of angry souls, pushing their wills against one another. The fight is inside me, my body destroying itself from within.
As I walk on the sand I look down at my swollen feet, they too tell a story.
The water swirls around my discolored skin, attempting to soothe where all else has failed.
Each step brings a new promise of pain as the last starts to fade. I look back at my footsteps, the memory of me already washing away with the next coming wave.
Somehow the pain anyways takes away the sound. The children playing along the shore, the dogs off their leashes bounding into the water after the elusive stick, couples walking hand in hand.
I hear nothing but my heart beating, reminding me of my own mortality. My own tick tock of the clock.
How many more steps will this body let me take, how much more pain will I endure in that time.
It’s quiet when I’m in pain.
Oh so quiet.