Running down the path so clearly marked for me, the quicksand takes me be surprise. It grips my ankles and pulls me. It drags me slowly in and forces my steps into slow motion. Slowly creeping up my legs itās got me. I feel bogged, like a ship whoās come to a crashing halt in the shallows. I somehow feel tricked, I had not intended to get stuck here, Iām not the type to be stuck be mere quicksand. Yet somehow, it has me. There is no choice but to surrender for a moment. The quicksand shows no mercy to my white flag and it pulls me deeper into its muddy prison.
Forced into to submission I freeze. I become still and the hold of the quicksand loosens. Then, trying to break free in all my strength, the quicksand quickly grips and drags me in further. Struggle is not an option. The wild fight in me just wonāt work here. I must be still. I must slowly creep forward, so slowly that from the outside it may not look like Iām moving at all, but underneath the quicksands gluggly yellow surface, Iāll be able to creep forward. Iām now waist deep and this mess shows no sign of relenting. I edge my toes forward, they make it only millimeters before feeling so entrenched that I must cease movement again.
It feels like what little progress I make is forgone by even my small attempts at struggle. Looks like allĀ I can do for now is be still and wait. The quicksand pulls me down to my neck and stops, as If it knows how to leave me in the most discomfort.
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
