It began as it always did; the prickling of feeling returning to her fingertips. The sound of the river pulling her back. The dock was hard and the water cold, biting her ruddy fingers as she weaved them through its waves. The book she neglected to read slipped from her lap in her absence and sat near the edge, waiting to join the locket she lost last summer.
A curl of faded red hair fell from a braid.
“I rise with my red hair / And I eat men like air.”
The cattle across the water nudged their calves to drink. She wanted to leave. The mother gave a “moo” to her disobedient young. The dizziness was getting worse. The memories didn't come as quick.
How far was the cabin?
The girl was wistful and homesick, living out her own Walden was not as she had hoped. The only thing she discovered about herself is that if she thought hard enough she could go anywhere she wanted and if she didn't eat the journey was easier. Nature was not as healing as Thoreau promised.
She used to bring a blanket, prop it up against a pole as a back pillow. It added no support, but it showed effort. Mimicked self awareness. She had come with only a book today, the same one she got from the country library down the road at the beginning of the month. The bugs were closing in and the temperature dropping.
What time was it?
The nightly summer storm danced over the sky, covering the faded sunset with gray smog. The rain fell in fat drops that dotted her face and decorated her shirt.
The girl had no intentions of leaving her dock. As each drop fell she drifted off. She would burrow under it, swimming with fish and bathing in the upstream waterfalls as the chatter 2 echoed through the canyon. Her hair would grow long and as free as her revitalized spirit. She would adorn herself with the lost things of fishermen, finding pleasure in discovering their stories.
A crack of thunder brought her back.
The book slipped further, she swooped it up in a dramatic fashion before it could fall into the abyss. The words didn't make sense anymore.
The river began to roar and the cows faded away.
A boat came closer.
A weathered woman leaned over the edge.
“Are you ok ‘hon?”
“I’m fine.”
-
Rose Garcia is a Junior in the WAVE pathway who has been an avid reader her whole life. After encouragement from her peers, she began writing stories of her own. Rose can be found in a far-off corner with her headphones and a book or frantically studying in her room. She hopes to pursue a career as an Editor in the future.
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