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A man is standing at the edge of a pond on
a warm summer’s night. The air is crisp, and has the aroma of sweet pine. He
lets a small sigh escape from his lips as he notices mother goose and her
ducklings gently caressing the surface of the water, as if caught between the
boundary of air and liquid. The water ripples from their movement, and washes
over the man’s feet, sending a tingle up his spine. As he stands there, his fragile
body sways in the gentle wind, no more than a blade of grass in a field
stretching for miles on end. The moon calmly reflects on the water.
In the middle of the pond, a white lily has
flowered between the cracks of an oddly shaped rock, which briefly disappears
from existence as the water crests over its peak. The man standing at the edge
ponders for a moment, and shifts his gaze toward an aging canoe which has been
tied off hastily a few feet from where he stands. He moves over to examine it,
only to let out another sigh of disappointment as he realizes there are many
holes in the bottom of the boat, which renders it useless. The man’s facial
expression remains unchanged as he takes off his boots and socks. He takes off
his shirt and places them all in a neat pile, along with his other personal
items: a silver pocket watch, a set of matches, and a golden necklace.
The man carefully steps into the warm,
tranquil water. It feels silky and smooth, as though he is resting in his comfortable,
familiar bed again, with her. But he is not resting. And he is not with her.
Not anymore.
He wades toward the middle of the pond, not
pausing to catch a breath. He can feel his heart beginning to pound ever so
much faster as he reaches the cracked rock, stopping a distance away to gaze at
the sight. He has not been here in seven years, a thought that brings tears to
his eyes. Suddenly, his mind is filled with the lush, beautiful memories of
which he had almost forgotten. He can feel the warm touch of her hand resting
on his cheek. He lets out a choked laugh, tears beginning to rush down his
face. Opening his eyes, the feeling of contentment departs altogether. He runs
his cold, ragged hand down his cheek, which has become sallow and colorless. He
has not been graced with her touch in over seven years. Seven years of pure
anguish, pain, and torture.
The man grasps the sides of the cracked
rock, and climbs atop it. He sits down on the edge, his legs dangling, treading
the warm, silky water below. He looks at the white lily, and reaches out his
hand to feel the petals rub against his skin. They are soft and warm, just like
her hands. He continues to caress the lily while looking up into the night sky.
The blackness of it is filled by innumerable white and yellow stars, sparkling
like glitter. A small smile appears on the man’s lips, and he gives a gentle
nod. As he looks back down toward the flower, a large gust of wind knocks him
sideways, causing him to dislodge a piece of rock from the crack. Where it lay
previously was a small piece of paper, folded ever so elegantly.
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