Elaine Abery - Cold Coffee

She closed her eyes and automatically, her hands went out in front of her, seeking to part the thick heaviness in front of her, like opening a curtain.

But it didn’t work.

She opened her eyes. Mostly to keep her balance as she used one hand to mop the waterfall cascading down her forehead, in the vain hope of keeping her eyes clear – clear enough to see and clear of stinging.

‘Geez! It’s heavy,’ came the crack as he passed her.

‘Just. Keep. Going,’ she muttered, overcoming the quicksand-like pull keeping her legs in place. She reached up and left her hair tie out, pulling away the hair stuck to her face at uncomfortable obscure angles. For now, that would do.

Her clothes were drenched. She could feel more sweat cascading between her shoulder blades, under her arms, between her breasts, between her legs.

‘Focus,’ she told herself.

‘Nearly there. The end is in sight.’

She hauled herself, painfully, slowly, the last few hundred metres.

Collapsing on the ground, she looked up. ‘How was it?’

‘This humidity. It’s so thick every step felt like I had to cut through it,’ she pants.

‘I bet you could murder a refreshingly cold coffee with ice.’