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!”



















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