Short Stories & Poetry

Just a myth

I stare at the horizon, wind whipping at my hair and clothes as though to rip them away from my body. I'll get you some day, it seems to promise.

The ground beneath my feet is sodden, squelching every time I move even a millimetre; a thick brown goo that is more water than sediment. If I get caught out on the floodplain, who knows what will happen to me. But I won't get caught.
They're all too focused on the riot at the market to be watching me.

I smile slightly, keeping my teeth covered even thought noone can see me. Customs always stick.
My arms are covered in goosebumps from the cold blowing off of the water. The Great Expanse. I can't see it- noone ever does- but I can imagine it.

A huge body of endless water, choppy and wild, like a mad dog, viciously scraping at the land in desperate attempts to claim a little more. If I didn't know better, I would give it what it wants. But 'just a little more' turns into a lot more, until it wants all of the land, and leaves us with nothing.

I've never actually seen a mad dog, either. But I've heard about them- in the stories we are told as small children.
If you don't go to bed, we'll let the mad dog get you!
If you don't do as I say, the tiger will eat you!
But that's all they are to me- myths; stories. Things my mother and father told me to get me to behave. Now I have bigger things to fear. Real things.
I glance back in the direction of the housing, and the market. It's silly to do. But these are the kind of thoughts that get you killed.

I squint at the horizon, trying in vain to catch even a small sign of The Great Expanse- that it's actually there. But it's futile. Of course I can't see it. If we were within viewing distance of the waves, we'd be in serious danger.

I glance down at the ground, six feet below the edge of the ridge I'm stood on. It's a comparatively small drop: others around our area range from an eight-foot-drop, to a fifteen-foot one. Despite this, the drop looks terrifying, and I feel sick.
To think that all of these were made by waves- by The Great Expanse- has me swaying on my feet.

I step back from the edge hurriedly, the mud sucking greedily at my foot until it reluctantly lets go and smooths over, settling to wait patiently for it's next possible victim. I didn't realise how far down I had sunk.

The mud claims so many people each year. It's merciless, sucking and bubbling like it's alive. Anyone stupid enough to venture too far out- especially alone- has little chance of making it back alive.
That is, if the council doesn't find you first.

I grimace. If I'm not careful, that's going to be me.

This snaps me into action. I pull both feet from the mud, turning my back on The Great Expanse and starting back the way I came. The riot will be nearly under control by now, despite it's size and violence.

There will be more than one family with their shutters across tonight. Mourning their losses.
Meanwhile, the rest of us pretend nothing's happened, leaving them to suffer alone.
That's the kind of thing that gets you slung in with the rioters.
Curiosity killed the cat.

Except cats are myths. And this is real.