ClingOn

Clutching, grasping, abrasive rope sliding through the soft, now tender skin of my petite hands, unwilling to let go - ride through the pain - inch by inch sliding further away from me. Arms stretched out, the rope has my body hanging from it, dragging like a dead weight, feet dug firmly into the ground, willing and fighting not to let go. Incensed, desperate, pleading with the rope to befriend me, to ease my tingling wounds. Lesions open as the rope attacks my weakness, I have to hold on, this is not merely a run of the mill friendly tug of war, the person on the opposing team is 'her', the one who stole 'him' from me, she will not win this time, I continue to tug, THIS IS WAR.