Svette's Storm

Svette came home late last night. Tears streamed from her pale blue eyes terrified she would be seen. She tried hard to hold her tears back, frightened by what she would wake, but it didn’t work, they fell against the cold sterile floorboards creating a long unstoppable echo throughout the dormant confinement at which she calls home.
“Svette! Child is that you?” Father’s voice carried through his room to where she resentfully stood. She froze unable to think, her body fell numb.
“Svette!” The door flew shut behind Father as he stumbled down the hallway to where she stood, frozen with fear.
The room fell silent to the invasive gesture on his old, crumpled face. She couldn’t stop it now; she knew it was too late to escape, fighting back would only hurt more. He held Svette down, and covered her mouth to silence the screams as the pain ripped into her carelessly. There was no love, only a cold, hard, long enduring hate that penetrated into the night.
She couldn’t bare look into the mirror that morning. She could feel her undeserved punishment throb throughout her blurred body. Svette’s aspiration for living had died. Nothing would take away the pain she had suffered. Svette threw herself on the cold floor, she felt dirty and confused, unsure of whom she really was. Across from her lay her deliverance, her temporary cure; the sleeping tablets, removed the lid and swallowed enough for now.
Everything slowed down and became softer. The tears had stopped rolling down her beaten red cheeks, the cold sterile floorboards became warm and friendly offering condolence, her troubles seemed so far away. Svette’s body slipped into ecstasy. She dreamt of the day she would wake up from her living nightmare and all her fears and all the pain would be gone-the day she longed for so much. Was it ever to come? Or was she stuck, living this harsh reality.
At first school seemed like a break through for Svette, a place of relief, free from anguish. Slowly did that change, no chance of letting go of her adverse home life. No opportunity to forget. Only time after time was she reminded of her shameful existence. She had no friends, no one to turn to, no one would understand. It was then that Svette felt no hope; she decided that she wasn’t going to go to school anymore. Instead Svette spent her time at home; locked away in her room where she felt nothing bad would happen.
Winter was Svette’s favourite time of the year, she would sit, gazing out the window for hours imaging what it would feel like to be struck by lightning or to be crushed by the menacing cries and intimidating taunts of the fierce and majestic stone grey clouds. Winter seemed so friendly and so comforting to Svette, it aloud her to see she wasn’t the only one drowning in drenched puddles of streaming sorrows, but everything around her was also drowning. This gave Svette a long relief, and unlike school it gave her hope. Winter was Svette’s only friend, they would convene together at her window and converse for hours on end, they shared a deep understanding like no other. They comforted each other and for the first time in years Svette felt glowing warmth come from within.
One night there was a wild storm. Unlike the other storms this one was full of fury and rage and far beyond Winter’s control. Violent stone gray clouds closed in making the free, open atmosphere feel claustrophobic and unwelcome. The rain turned heavy and poisonous as it fell hard upon the fragile ground that was running for cover. The thunder let out bellowing screams of intense deliverance, as lightning intruded at Svette’s bare and now vulnerable window. Svette felt naked and exposed to the dangers that would now encroach the only place she felt some sense of security.
“Svette!” Father’s malevolent tone reverberated into Svette’s room.
The door decisively flew open, casting tall dominant shadows that swallowed up the room. Immobilised by trepidation Svette fell victim yet again to Father’s oppressive behaviour. There were no screams for Father’s constraining hands to cover. There were no subsequent tears. Svette lay there still and showed no emotion. She sunk into a cold, empty atmosphere where she became reminiscent of the storm. Svette could hear Winter’s cries subside into the distant horizon, well beyond her reach, and well beyond her needing hand. She realised that the dream she once dreamt of was never going to eventuate.
Svette was to forever be stuck living her harsh reality. This time no temporary cure would reliever her pain. No amount of sleepless nights would end fear. Nothing would ever stop the dark and dominant shadows of Father’s ongoing demeanour.
Svette’s pale blue eyes turned into a resentful cold stone gray as she retreated to the corner of her room, where she decided her melancholic times where going to met an end, time that Svette ended her living nightmare. She hurried to where she had previously hidden the sharpest of the kitchen knives, hoping it would still be there, untouched and unseen. She knew this was the only out.
Without any fear or any doubt, Svette pressed the cold shiny silver blade into the soft naked skin of her welcoming wrists. Red breathes of a fragile life overlay Svette’s weakening spirit. Tears stopped clouding her embraced face. A small silent smile celebrated the emitting outpour of relieved emotion. The blade empathetically lay by Svette’s side; drowning in her devoted blood. She harmoniously lay there, as she found her unconscious self slowly drifting away into the cleared and now accessible atmosphere outside the confinement at which she once called home. The bitter stormy wind changed direction. The bright and radiant sun shone proudly through Svette’s window to where her cold, numb and senseless body peacefully lay. Svette’s storm was finally over, and at long last she was forever free.

Svette's Storm

Sarah Ann Malone

Joined October 2008

  • Artist

Artist's Description

Short Story of a young lost soul struggling to be freed from her long lived nightmare.

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