The water flows over her body. Dark, tormented currents of grief slyly encapsulate her in a hazy mirage of reflected light that pools over her concave shape. Her flesh is sallow and pinched with wrinkles that form crevices in her skin. Droplets merge and roll over her forming small ravines across the barren horizon of her torso.

Rivulets extend through the valleys of her flesh forming a watershed that empties into the pools of her curves. They snake around her neck like a noose, but she is a prisoner unaware. She revels in it, in the way the water fills the spaces of her fractured body. It pools into the gaping, empty cavities of her limbs. It drowns out the hollow ache she feels in the voids of her skin. It cradles and engulfs her in a cunning embrace, creating surging currents that spin wildly under the surface.

Rivers running over her figure become diversions, smoothing and numbing the banks of her curves. A temporary fix. A momentary distraction. Evanescent denial. But as the water flows relentlessly into every chasm of her figure, she hears the persistent whispers in the merging currents. The wrinkles on her skin begin as shallow gullies, but the water is an incessant carver. She ignores it at first, convinced that the water filling the cracks make her whole.

But the illusion is eroded by the building ferocity of the water. It becomes unbridled as the currents flowing through her gather power and speed. Wild and untamed they crash aggressively against the shores of her flesh. The morbid lakes pooling in the gulfs of her curves become pregnant with swollen bellies of violent water that give way to rivers which continue to carve gorges across her. The currents ravage their way toward the abyss of her mouth threatening to cascade into its depths, inundating and drowning her under their tireless flow.

The valley of her chest rises and falls rapidly, sending waves crashing through the landscape. She is silenced, powerless in the face of the angry wrath consuming her, born from the dew of her grief. The smell of turgid water permeates her breath. Desperation saturates the land the water has devastated. The manic quakes of her breathing which once sent violent shocks through the valleys of her chest have become small tremors. Now, despairing shudders feebly shake the flooded wetlands of her figure.

The land has been drenched but the green foliage full of vitality poised to burst from the ground is remiss. The rivers of her curves remain flooded and the landscape seems to whisper prayers for relief, an escape from the grief. With every shaky exhale she attaches a plea for a different reality. For a sun to reveal itself and scoop the water away from her in revitalising handfuls of evaporation.

She begs and prays that if the rivers that consume her remain fixed, and the lakes that vanquish her torso stay motionless, and the currents that flow over her entirety stand still, the flood will dissipate. But her prayers crumble to nothing in the wind that travels over the inundated plains of her figure. Her desperate bargaining falls on the ears of an impassive negotiator.

The land remains flooded. The edges of the gorges that used to be strong now crumble weakly into the rivers that invade them. The undulating shape of her torso is crushed by the water which rests on her with unrelenting pressure. It is like her body is collapsing on itself, as though the suffocating weight of hurt has settled over her figure in a scornful kind of dusk. The kind which mocks her because it could augur the end of a painful day but she knows that dusk only gives way to darkness.

Shadows stretch over the valley of her chest and envelope her figure in an oppressive night that turns the water an inky black. A deep, bottomless shade that spills over her and stains her. The darkness makes the water glacial. The cold compresses her, paralyses her, numbs her to everything but the currents of pain that continue to run relentlessly over her body. Gradually the violent torrents of water morph into a lethargic flow but it is invasive and unrelenting.

The water spills into the void of her mouth and brings a new kind of drowning. Her entire body aches for oxygen. The icy flows invade the chasm of her throat and enter the canals of her veins.  The water that now flows within her has travelled the entire terrain of her body. It has pervaded every fractured crevice of her skin and permeated every canyon of her curves. But now beneath the flooded gorges of her torso, a surge of strength ripples through the tectonic plates of her muscles. She breathes. With each rise and fall of her chest her body responds.

The cavern of her ribs open and sends waves swelling through the valley of her trunk, expelling the water in surges that rush down the slopes of her waist. As her breathing finds a steady rhythm it pulsates through the ground and she begins to move. Tentatively at first, she slowly frees herself of the fluid shackles that bound her. The flex of her muscles sends water rushing from her in anguished torrents. The stretch of her neck loosens the noose that had snaked around it bringing gushes of relief.

The arch of her back sends the water that flowed through the rivers carved in her chest away from her. Dams formed in the crevices of her skin are fractured by her movement. The icy water that covered, conquered and corrupted every inch of her figure bursts from them.

With every droplet disgorged a new landscape is revealed. A landscape that is scarred by the memory of the water engrained in its terrain. The water has changed her, transformed her but as she emerges from the liquid chrysalis she sees that the landscape has adapted and so will she.