Prompt #2

I wanted to do so much more with this, but the deadline crept up behind me too quickly! Oh well, perhaps I'll revisit it once I'm back on campus.

~~~~~~~~~~

A pleasant feeling, that.

The water, I mean. Gentle, a cat’s caress around my ankles, cooling the fever in my blood, but adding warmth to my soul. A slight tug, I shuffle forward. Comforting. The tug becomes more enticing, ever-so-slightly more powerful. Another small step, then another, another. I sit, for it is far easier to let the flow take me.

Silly. The water isn’t nearly deep enough. But then, suddenly, it is. The riverbed has dropped out from underneath me. I float along on my back contentedly, closing my eyes, allowing the river to gently lap over me from time to time as it swiftly carries me away.

I remember flashes.

A car ride, a thunderstorm, a bridge. A feeling of claustrophobia, a feeling of suffocation, hopelessness.

But it all seems so far away, so far away indeed.

I float along endlessly. That is to say, until I reach the end. I feel myself bump along the ground, my butt dragging against the side of the riverbank. Startled, I sit up, water cascading from my hair and body as I do so. I lean forward, allowing my hair to fall in a curtain in front of my face. I watch as the seeming waterfall slows to the rate of a dripping faucet, the once solid mass of hair now separating into thick, wavy columns.

I am dead. I don’t let little things bother me, though.

It takes a moment for my eyes to full adjust. Sweeping the hair away from my face helps. I lean back, resting on the palms of my hands. I squish and squeeze the mud through my fingers for a while. The soft, gritty texture makes me smile.

A slight breeze rustles through the tall grass that frames the bank. I push myself to my feet. The sluggish trudging out of the river begins. Shloop! Shloop! It’s as if the mud of the river wants to cement me in place, but I wish to see what is beyond the banks. I carry on. Shloop!

I am relieved of my shoes. I write it off as a present to the river, in thanks for a smooth ride. They’ll probably be re-gifted.

The land is full of lush, green grass. I remove my sodden socks so I can feel the slight sharpness as I walk. I glance back at the river, noting that my shoes have disappeared entirely into the mud.

“When you are ready, return to me.” The river says.

I nod and continue to walk away, all the while admonishing myself for listening to a river. A river, after all, cannot talk. Therefore, listening to one would be a silly choice. Nonetheless, I took the words to heart, tucking them away in my mind.