Prose
Myself, Choose I
Short Story/Fiction
“Myself, choose I,” were the words that were spoken.
She thrust the knife into the grass and stood, looking over her work with the coldness of a cynic.
Behind her, the roar of the waterfall reminded her of the serenity of her surroundings. The pure blue of the sky and the deep green of the grass contrasted beautifully in this heavenly place. Her mark in the grass was a symbolic move, a gesture that supported her crusade for independence.
Deep in her heart of hearts, she understood the sacrifices that she had already undertaken to get herself to her current point. She forced the sharp pang of fear aside.
She turned around, looking at the pure black stallion that grazed near the waterfall.
Walking forward, she stripped herself of her vestments and stood at the edge of the water. Her reflection was unerring in its harmony with her internal image of herself. She dove into the water.
