Fiction
He was slowly winding his fist through my hair
Short Story
He was slowly winding his fist through my hair, entangling his fingers. His strong fingers held onto the back of my skull with unnerving conviction and seemingly impossible strength. The goosebumps that had threaded the entirety of my body now pulsed with frantic electricity. I felt my breath catch in my throat before I had a chance to breathe. My throat felt wet and sticky.
“This won’t hurt,” he said, thrusting my head underwater.
Before I had the chance to expel any words, my whole body was underwater. Fresh lake water filled my lungs.
I felt the horrid ecstasy of the moment in cold shivers down my spine. The fragile length of white cloth that I wore floated around me underwater in ghostly emanations.
Just as suddenly, the pastor had released me from his vise-like grip and was cradling me in his arms.
“There, child. That wasn’t so bad.” My vision cleared and I looked up into his watery grey eyes. Beyond anything, my heart wanted to trust him. I coughed, and water spurted out of my lungs and onto his face.
