short stories

The river

My feet are wet. That's understandable, especially because I am are standing at the start of a river. My legs are wet too, but that's because I have moved deeper into the water. It flows smoothly, softly, like velvet silk. It feels odd against my rough and calloused hands. Too out of place in my harsh world. While I stand in the running river, I sometimes fear for it, hoping that I won't corrupt it with my dirt and tears and blood. But it just washes my body, cleaning it when it has only deserved tainting. The water runs clear after a while and I sigh in relief, thanking whoever will listen, because at least the river is one thing I can't ruin. It will only just revive itself time and time again.

But sometimes, I envy the river. Envy the way it can rid itself of all the harmful things it doesn't want. Envy the way that, even when it gets tainted by the sinning people it allows in, it still runs clean and pure. I wish I was like that, getting rid of all the hurt and pain in myself, and be clean like the river. Pure like the river. But I can't, and so my hate for the lovely and kind water embankment grows.

The water is not a blue, or a green, but a clear grey. It could be because the clouds cover the warmth of the sun today, but it is usually always grey when I come down here. Maybe it reflects my mood. Maybe it just never sees the sun here, or the sky. But whatever the reason, I can never quite seem to figure out why I come here. It's not that special of place. Nowhere is really. At least that's one thing I figured out.

My clothes are soaked now, and the water hits my hips. It sends a small flurry of chills up my back, and my arms constrict around my torso. My hands dig into my sides and I wince as I bite my lip. I don't know why I am moving in deeper. But my feet continue to drag me in further. Maybe I want to rid the dirt of my hands, but I could've done that at the shore. Maybe I want to wipe the blood off my body, but I could've easily done that in a bathtub. Maybe I want to hide the tears that run down my face, but couldn't I have done that with my hands?

The wind picks up a little, whipping my hair around more forcefully than before. It gets stuck in my face and mouth, and although I don't want to, I unwrap my arms to remove it. My chest constricts and my heart starts to thump erratically. I breathe in quick breaths, my hands wrapping back around myself so I don't have to feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. But I'm thrown off balance by my sudden movement, and my body falls backwards. I crash into the water, and it sweeps me off my feet. It's then that I realised I've gone out too far. I can't find the bottom of the river, and my body spins and twirls under the surface. I thrust my arms upwards and break the water, spluttering madly. Trying to suck in air, water only enters my mouth as the river suddenly becomes more powerful in its waves. I choke and spit, sinking back under the surface as the current tugs me down towards the bottom.

I struggle to reach back up to the top, as the current also drags me down the river, bumping into sharp rocks and boulders. My leg hits one hard and a burst of bubbles leave me as I gurgle out in pain. I can see blood swirling in the water and my head feels very faint. Somehow I rise to the surface and I gulp down big breaths, only to be pushed back under and twisted around.

This feels worse than anything I have suffered in my life. The overwhelming sense of drowning, of not being able to breathe without suffocating, is torture. And the rocks continue to jab at me; making the pain worse than the countless hits my body has suffered. I struggle to swim to the top, but wave after wave hits me back down to the bottom.

My vision starts to get dotted by black and blue, and I stop struggling to gaze at the colours. It reminds me of my own skin, my own portrait of black and blue. The sun shines through the water, and gold catches on my body. It feels weird now, the water. The danger still thrashes me about, but I feel weightless. It feels like the river is trying to cleanse me, just like it does with itself. And I realise something.

Maybe this is my way out. My own cleaning. Maybe to be free from the dirty secrets of my life, I must give up everything, including my life. I must clean myself in order to be gone from it all. And the river is my hero; my saviour, because it is has showed me the way out.

And as I watch my blood, my dirt, my life, seep out of my body and into the water, I can't help but feel calm. Serene. Because I finally realise that maybe the water is not as clean as what it makes out to be. Maybe it is just so good at hiding the bad, that all you see is the good. And that's what I need. To hide away from the worse, so i can finally see the better.