Smooth Waters

A Story by Nostalgia Tea

This short story stems from a desire to understand life.

The water was cool and soothing between his toes. The soft glow of the sleepy sun touched everything it saw with a brow of orange and the trees rustled gently in the breeze in hushed whispers. Nothing disturbed the mirror smooth surface of the lake of bronze and opal except the occasional gulp of a fish, or the fleeting dip of a dragonfly.

The old wooden jetty stretched out like a road unfinished into the distance and there he sat on its edge. As he dragged his toes slowly across the water, it parted with ease and the ripples spread gently away. His reflection swam before him, that familiar face staring back through a fluttering veil. The lake had a calmness about it, like an old mentor who could charm out the deepest thoughts, who would listen in silence and remember all its in depth.

Overhead the clouds drifted, broad like a fleet of silver ships facing the sun. He wondered that if any at all would reach their destination unchanged or even if they knew where they were going. Are we any different? he thought. The futility of our struggle, all of our aims and dreams one day will evaporate like the clouds above our heads and our bodies will turn to dust, our words and promises made empty like rain beating down on the steadfast earth, only to drain away into a sea of memories.

He took a deep breath and the world held it too around him and dove into the lake, shattering its surface. As soon as he entered, his body felt a sharp grip of the cool waters.

He began to swim, one two, one two, his hands carving through with power and vigour, each stroke overcoming the resistance so intent keeping him where he was. He could hear nothing but the sound of his heart pounding in his head and the splash of water parting from him. His lungs began to burn, each sharp breath begging him for respite, but he would not give in. A sense of anguish built up in him, like a red torrent of burning coals, setting his heart and soul ablaze in anger and frustration. Wasn’t there anything he could do that the world would not undo in time? Nothing that he could build with his hands that wouldn’t just be torn down? What was the point in trying so hard for anything? Years of toil for that empty shell of his corporate job? His life spent amassing a wealth that would leave him in an instant, he began to wonder if it was even wealth at all? What about the false pride he wore for the outer world, there if not only really to protect himself from his own inner emptiness. The poverty of his youth had consumed him and drove him to struggle against all odds, only reach the exhaustion of success. Utterly pointless. Drowning him cold like the water around.

But he kept on swimming. The end was near.

He finally reached the shore and clambered out, his body covered in a sparkling film, warm and radiating in silent triumph, the sand beneath soaked the flecks of water dripping from his hair like small diamonds which darkened the patches where they fell. He looked over his shoulder at the lake, no longer smooth, but undulating in his wake, the lilies and reeds bowing gently in with every passing wave.

It was then that he realised something. That everything leaves its mark, that no matter how big or small, or how transient, the memories they create seep deeply into the world around, always there even when the moment has long passed.

The lake soon stood as before, a mirror of bronze and opal.