#WritcoStoryPrompt16
She held on to the fragile branch with a death's grip as the roaring water threatened to drag her away.
She gasped, the bubbling swirls entering her mouth. There was no hope left...but she remembered who grandma creaky voice, no more than a whisper.
What is the meaning of what we call death?
What is the meaning of what we call life?
Do we take our happiness or strife?
She now saw how she could break free, her fingers curling around the smooth wood, she hulled herself up. She dragged her limb body up the bank, fuelled by angry memories and dark dreams.
Shall she be praying?
Has she not shown love?
They're hating for a living
she almost died for the above.
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