by Gabriella Ganoe
I can feel the power coursing through my veins. It burns, and tugs at the insides of my veins, a beast clawing its way out of my body. But I’m in pain. There is something about it that feels normal, like it’s was working with me. This power is mine. And I don’t have to contain it anymore.
There’s a series of shouts that crowd the air, thick and staggering voices that hit the air behind me. Dad’s probably already called the police; he’s done everything he can to keep me locked away. But now that I know, now that my body is radiating what I was always meant to be, they can’t stop me. Nothing can. Not the years of lies, the constant physiological torture. Not the hand pressing against my chest. It all feels so far away, despite the fact I’ve only run a few meters. The binding is gone. I’m free.
I suddenly feel weightless, an untethered balloon ready to set off to space. The pounding of my feet on the pavement is replaced by the rush of wind against my ears, the ground becoming nothing but a distant memory. The electricity stuck in my veins explodes out through my hands, encircling my fingers like a moth to a flame. I’m the flame. I’m on fire. And I’m burning through the clouds.
Post Script Magazine. 