Acceptance By Freya Dover Analysis

Acceptance. Descriptive writing by Freya Dover.

The scarlet droplets fell into the dead leaves that carpeted the forest. I felt cold, all of the happiness drained from my very being. Drip. Drip The world that used to be my playground grew sinister as darkness fell. The ancient lightning-scarred trees seemed unnaturally large and twisted. They loomed over me, like the very things that had caused me so much pain. I knew I was going to die. I could feel it in the frost that encased my fingertips; my breaths pumped into the deflated bags, which were my lungs. The wound to my side was deep. I could still feel the blood seeping through the thin cotton of my shirt after what felt like hours. Stuck in a place deserted by civilization, no help
How she would subsist with my entering oblivion. Having to live with the memory, convincing herself that she could've saved me. In a world where not much is accomplished, there are an awful lot of "could'ves" and "should'ves". But still, nothing is done. I should've grabbed the rock tighter. I should've got a better foothold. I could've stopped myself falling. “Should’ve, Could’ve.” Crying couldn’t fix anything. Deep down every rational being knows that. But, we cry anyway, because we convince ourselves that crying will help us heal, like squeezing out the pus of an infected wound. In my last moments surviving in the only reality I knew, I wasn't going to shed nugatory tears of self-pity. It was too late for that. The moonlight pooled into a silver puddle amongst the leaves, lighting up their icy shells, like millions of diamonds scintillating in the night. A lump rose in my throat. The realization hit me like a truck going full speed up a bypass. I was alone, but I wanted to cry as somebody told me that everything was going to be ok. My heart screamed at me, pleading for more air to pump. Air that my paper bag lungs could no longer