Depth

"Water has no memory: that is why it is so clear."
- Ramon Gomez De La Serna

HE was watching the waves impact the rocks with the same ferocity echoing in his mind. Violence behind him. What fascinated him was the calm between each wave. The water cleared and the seabed appeared, with its inhabitants, seaweed, anemones, fish, crabs, urchins... Then another wave would come and that small world exploded in a whirl of foam. It repeated to infinity.

The TANNED BOY peeked over.

Two pebbles rolled down from under his shoes. They flew long before splashing in and disappear. After a long contemplation, the Tanned Boy backed away from the edge and looked up at sunset, cloudy and gloomy. Then he started walking down the cliff, to the beach.

He entered the forest. He was beginning to feel cold. Sure, with those rugs he was wearing he couldn't face the night outside, he couldn't do it even if he wanted to. He knew they were tracking him. He wasn't surprised to notice a truck parked on the side of a trail snaking in the woods.

He sneaked in. The guys from the truck - two of them - turned their flashlights on and scanned the vegetation. Tanned boy hid behind a tree trunk, but he could hear their steps getting closer. His heart was hammering inside his chest and he held on to it, afraid it was going to jump out. He looked around: no escape.

He dashed. They immediately pointed the lights at him and gave chase. He climbed down the stream's edge, going under the stone bridge. He had to be careful not to slip on the stream bed's rocks. When at the deepest point he felt trapped. The two thugs were on him and they would have caught him, so he dived and let the current take him. He emerged on the other side of the stone bridge and panicked to grab a hold to get out. The thugs were still on him, though. He braved up and ran into the forest until his lungs broke.

The route brought him to a farm.

He hugged a wooden fence to catch his breath, with his face brightened by the remaining rays of light from that mousse of vanilla, cream, and blueberries that the clouds appeared to be. But the sky wasn't what got Tanned Boy's full attention.

There were corpses in the field.

They couldn't be haystacks. The thugs were catching up, so he vaulted over the fence and forced himself to walk amongst the carcasses. They were the farm's animals, butchered by frantic rifle rounds with no order. He had to cover his mouth and nose to filter out that stench. He couldn't wait to reach the barn, but once inside he wished he wasn't, when faced with the horrific sight of a farmer that had hung himself in the middle of the barn. Tanned Boy paled, for how much a tanned boy could pale, and petrified in repulse.

Then at the boots steps in the mud he looked behind: the beams from the flashlights were scanning the field he just crossed. Tanned Boy had to keep moving. He exited the barn and ran towards the house, when he heard screams from the road.

He hid behind the house's corner and watched the road: there was another truck on the side. The headlights were irradiating the silhouettes of people running in the adjacent field.

Then the shots.

Tanned Boy hid and shut his eyes. He shrieked at every shot and covered his ears with growing force, aware that he wouldn't be able to tone out the firing, but could at least try to ignore the hurtful screams of the people.

Until there was no more firing.

Then he opened his eyes and peeked again and with heart in mouth he came across a kid not much older than himself, pale and wearing a hat. He was panting and scared. He stumbled against Tanned Boy shoving him to the ground. Tanned Boy rose on his knees and crossed gaze with the equal-in-age. The latter was about to flee but changed his mind. He put his index finger on his lips and sneaked under the steps of the house porch. Tanned Boy followed him under that narrow space full of cobwebs. He felt itchy and a pounding heart when he heard the thugs run to the house to sorround it. Their boots ploughed the dirt and devoured the grass in the garden like hounds hungry for the bare foots and scruffy shoes of the fugitives, pagans with no hope that didn't know where to run to anymore. One after the other they hunted and rifled them out there, with no hesitation. One after the other the carcasses dropped to the ground. One of them was still alive and was moaning like a child with a bad tummy. One of the thugs stopped above him, pointed his rifle, and fired a shot that stopped his moans and froze him on the spot. Then suddenly the body shrieked in a spasm and slowly relaxed.