Succumb, it called to her, crashing against her resolve like the storm surge from a Category Five Hurricane. She weakened but her storm walls held, refusing to be another Galveston. She would not let those relentless waves claim her.
Yet it persisted, assaulting her senses, penetrating her mind, constantly luring her into its depths. Succumb, it wafted to her, taking a softer approach, inviting her to look into its depths, to see its worth and to accept what it had to offer-the promise of total comfort and satisfaction.
It was hard, her life had been so full of twists of late, the stressors so dominating. A failed business yet rent still due; her children struggling to find a life of their own; her aging dogs greying and limping, it was all so pervasive.
Succumb, it soothed, and she shook her head. Succumb, it entreated and she gripped fiercely to the edges of the counter, her knuckles white. Succumb, it promised wonderful relief and peace.
“Oh fuck it!” She said, picking up the fork and stabbing into the bubbling tin of macaroni and cheese.