Elan Mudrow
Smidgens
The River (Portrait #1)
The river–
Cold, of a certain depth, certain speed, enough to conceal .
Annie had freckles that hid frowns, dusty eyes—unmanageable red hair like wild wires sitting upon a strange round head.
Pulling Jessie’s wet wrists, towards the water, hands slipped away.
Annie had words to say. The words had to mean something even if they sounded like nothing.
Her voice was the trembling kind, a voice without certainty.
Such a voice carries in the forest differently. It is embraced by small sounds. It was these small sounds Annie placed hope upon, to take care of Jessie.
Jessie had been strong for her tiny stature, a rugged frame with a curvy overtone, bronzed skin and goddess hair.
It is true a river separates the banks, but they meet somewhere, either at a spring or a river, or the ocean. Such it was that Annie hoped for Jessie.
It was time for the words. First—sound of commitment, not the act itself, but the desire. Second—words of bonding. Annie kissed Jessie’s lips, frigid, but the lips should have been bluer. Third—a plea to the river. The words had to be spoken like an action, a movement of life, a movement towards death………….movement. The water never stops.
The splash of Jessie’s body echoed off the trees lining the river. They were the only other witnesses.
Was it too loud? The snow, thanks to the snow, the sound was dampened.
A couple specks danced in the air, gliding down, disappearing within the carpet of white that hid the soil.
All was quiet, until a couple of trees rubbed trunks, sounding like a wild animal with its paws sunk in dirt.
Annie raised her silent head and solicited the sky. “Touch her!”
29 Comments on “The River (Portrait #1)”
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Elan Mudrow 
Well I am no writer, thats for sure!!
I decided to write some blogs, I just write about my stuff.
You on the other hand really make me read and re-read,
You are the reason I am so pleased I started a blog.
So I can just merrily blog
But I can also read your stuff Elan
Captivating and I can’t seem to tear myself away from your site right now.
Can’t wait to read on
If only the trees could talk to me in this piece
I feel like they have some answers!!
Cheers again from
Annie in Australia 🌞 🌴 🌊
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Love it, very evocative. Nice to virtually meet another writer.
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Thanks
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I had to read this twice to really feel like i read it- so deep and beautiful- great work!
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They are in that page :
Here
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I did that for a while as well. Do you have links to your other blogs?
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Ah… I have flash fiction at another place… and long verse at yet another…
on a page up at the top of ‘Gems’.
All mist, all myst, all mystery…
Cheers, Jules
I’ll bookmark your place. 🙂
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Wow. Is there more to this? I desperately want to read more! 🙂
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Sad. Desperate. Desolute.
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wow….silly word for a odd piece, I love it. have to agree with others, I didn’t want to finsh but had to continue. I look forward to reading more of your writings. thank you.
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Intriguing…as the start of a story or a novel this scene, the prose, and the characters could entice a reader…which is 99 percent of what they say it takes for an editor or a literary agent to hold off tossing the writing into the delete pile.
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You are reading a portrait. It’s a painting with words, not a story. But then, it could be a story, couldn’t it? You are wise including the broken bridge. To that I say, yes!
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The writing and the images are so clear. Yet I’m not sure what I read. The broken bridge in the picture is a clue, maybe. Masterfully written.
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Thank you for following! So privileged to have stumbled across a writer as talented as yourself. Keep at it!
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That’s a heavy observation, yet so true. Where does one draw the line?
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Cold and intimate. Yes. Such extremes. You didn’t want to read it but couldn’t look away.
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Absobloomin’lutely did make sense. Loved your brogue or whatever you call it. Grin
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Pingback: The River (Portrait #1) | Daraste Padava
I like your photos. I make up my own stories or poems to them. A little sadness goes a long way. A little happiness goes a long way further. What I see.
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Passion and insanity can be much alike.
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A rather intense piece. I can feel the cold and the dampened silence of the snow! Loved it!
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Cold, spare, involving writing. Excellent. Can’t wait for the next.
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interesting and I love the picture
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I couldn’t have said that better.
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I often wonder why do I find beauty in the most confusing writings.
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That’s interesting. I like your reaction to it. It makes me think.
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By the time I got to the middle of this post, I wasn’t sure I should read it. Then I wanted to get Jessie a blanket and maybe because my house is cold. This read very cold and intimate at the same time. Hopeless and overtaken.
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Tis, ’tain’t it? (Did that make sense?)
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That’s a wee bit creepy!
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