ninety-eight : to dream of rising water
She awoke in the night with an aching need to see the ocean. Her heart quavered with the need for it. She felt it calling her, and somehow, suddenly, it was all there was, all there ever could be.
She felt as though she would burst into flame unless she saw it, and so, beneath the pale orange dome of the city’s night sky, Hannah ran until her lungs burned, then with wild eyes and jelly legs she climbed aboard a rattling tram. It shook and lurched, and her heart pounded as she felt panic bubbling deep within her chest.
At last she stood on the damp planks of an ancient pier, with salt spray clinging to the loose fibres of her coat. Boats on the horizon blinked in and out of sight. She watched them through stinging eyes as the smell of rotting seaweed grew strong.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, ‘I’m here, I’m here.’
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