"Freedom's Failed Fantasy"

Savannah Price

Published in Dalton State College's Tributaries Fall 2022

Short Story

"Freedom's Failed Fantasy"

The cold wind ripped into her skin as she continued along the dirt path. Her hair, which had once been securely tied back, blew freely around her reddening face and whipped against her skin as readily as the wind. Where she was headed, she could not admit, even to herself, but she was determined to put distance between herself and all that was behind her. All that threatened to pull her into an existence worse than nonexistence. Was it like this for everyone?

Their big eyes filled her mind, begging her to stay.

Tears resumed the trail they often followed on her cheeks as the projection of their hurt expressions overtook her. Her foot caught on a stump she hadn’t noticed through the blur of the salty water in her eyes, and she was thankful for the pain that surged through her palm and found itself in the bruises that scattered along her arm and ribs as she caught herself on the solid ground. She deserved this, for leaving them behind.

Deep breaths.

In and out.

Would they ever forgive her?

The earthy smell of the dirt was soothing as she collected herself, still on the ground, unwilling or unable to lift herself. The wind pressed her unruly hair into the tears that smeared her face, blocking her vision almost completely now. Her ragged, forced breath echoed off the hard ground and met her ears. She could see only so far in the scattered moonlight that found its way through the trees. Around her, the murmur of crickets and the cry of tree fogs fought with the ringing in her ears, the whipping of the wind around her, and the harsh catches of her sobs.

They’re okay.

He won’t hurt them.

In and out.

She could hear their sweet voices in her head now, telling her it would be okay. It should be her telling them, she knew, but she had never been what they needed. What they deserved. She couldn’t blame it all on him. All the hurt he had caused had only occurred because of her inability to leave sooner. Before she had forced more innocent beings into his grasp. But she had failed at this too. Only leaving when the pain, the guilt, the confinement had become too much for her selfish being to handle.

Was she selfish?

Surely, they would think so.

She knew he did.

Pushing herself off the ground finally, she regained her urgency to get further away. Her steps were as wobbly and uneven as her breath, both taking any opportunity they could to propel her forward faster. The gurgle of a nearby stream told her she was getting closer to her final destination. She was almost to freedom. Her steps increasing in vivacity, her feet met the icy stream with insistence. She didn’t notice the biting water seeping into her boots as she kept her eyes ahead, trained on the tree line, searching for the flash of light, the sound of her escape.

I thought it ran at 11.

It has to.

What will I do if-

The sound of a train’s whistle cut through the night air, silencing the crickets and frogs for only a moment. She sighed in relief, the cold air filling her lungs with necessity. She squinted, looking for a sign of the train’s proximity. Although she couldn’t see the light of the train, another whistle ripped through the air, telling her it was going much faster than she anticipated.

How would she make it in time?

Stumbling towards the noise, she forced herself faster and faster. The light attached to the front of the train now flashed through the woods. Her breath ragged, her hair flying in the wind. She wouldn’t make it in time. She was sprinting now, sweat beaded on her forehead despite the freezing temperature of the night air. Tears fought against her eyes. Sobs fought her thrashing breath. Suddenly, she saw the edge of the woods ahead, where the trees suddenly stopped, and the steel tracks shimmered like silver in the moonlight. She surged forward faster, conscious of the loud metal screeching of the train on its tracks, bounding down its path, closer and closer to her.

If only she had been so certain of her purpose.

If only she had been given a path to follow.

She didn’t have time for reflecting now.

The train ripped through the clearing ahead of her. She was still twenty feet away, stretching her freezing legs as far as they could go, no longer able to feel her toes. The train stretched on, holding at least fifty cargo cars. She was going to make it in time! As she stepped out of the tree line, she hesitated only a moment before scanning the flying cars for an opportunity. The train was going too fast. She was never going to be able to make it on. Her sobs quickened as her escape plan faded in front of her eyes. Only thirty cars left, she had to act now.

Just pick one!

Just jump and hold on tight!

Twenty.

She held her hair back with her cracking, immobile hands, her chest heaving with the effort of life. She took a step forward just as the train’s speed sent another wave of the frigid air against her chapped cheeks.

Fifteen.

It was going too fast. She was accepting failure now, the adrenaline that had urged her out of the door, through the woods, and to the spot she stood now was wearing off.

Ten.

Their eyes flashed in her vision again. Their pleading eyes. If only she could have brought them with her. If only she could have saved them too. The image of their hurt, the hurt she had caused, propelled her forward. She took a deep breath, looking at the final five cars in front of her. Setting her gaze on the third car, which had a large metal handle running vertically up it, she fixed her stance.

This is it.

This is freedom.

She jumped.

Her hands fumbled against the cold metal bar, unwilling to grasp the metal, unable to a good hold as the cold held them hostage. Her feet did not catch on the metal step that ran under the train car as she had planned, sending her icy body falling to the solid ground.

She had failed freedom. Her mind was scattered, her ears were ringing. She was sobbing but she could not feel the tears. She only felt emptiness.

“Mommy!” She tried to look around, but she wasn’t able. Her child cried out again, worry and fear lacing her voice. “Mommy, please!”

Suddenly, she woke up, and she was not in the woods where she had attempted her escape, but in the exact place she had been fleeing from. One of her desperate children stood at the side of her bed, her hand latched to her mother’s, begging her to wake from whatever nightmare had sent her into such a fit.

“Baby, baby, what happened?” Her voice was hardly a croak, her throat was dry and brittle. She knew what had happened. It was what always happened when her daughter woke her up with the same terrified warning in her voice.

You’re being too loud.

You’ll wake him up.

“You were screaming again, mommy. Are you okay?” Those big eyes, that silent, scared voice pleaded with her. She forced a smile, as she looked around the room, spotting her husband passed out on the floor nearby, the odor of alcohol emitting in an almost perceivable cloud with every breath that escaped him. She shivered at seeing him again so soon but forced strength to the surface, the strength she knew her daughter needed to see.

“I’m sorry, I had a bad dream,” she offered quietly, pulling her daughter towards her and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Go on to bed, don’t worry about me.”

She knew her daughter wasn’t convinced, but she tiptoed around the drunken silhouette of her father, slipped out of the door, and went off to bed. She looked at the bumpy, broken shape of her husband on the floor and promptly closed her eyes again.

She let her mind take her away into the woods, stumbling along the path to freedom.