Thursday, February 17, 2011

Misc Passage No. 8

Miscellaneous fictitious story, written for a friend last week.

Down, deep into the canyon, splitting it in two, rushes a river. Bending, this way and that, tearing at the land around its reaches. All around, the canyon walls are lined with trails, some no more than a foot across, weaving in and out of the thin, dusty scrub brush, the only life that dare cling to its rocky, crumbling surface. Down, along the shores of the river, are thousands upon thousands, of perfectly smooth, round, river rocks, shaped by hundreds of years of the rushing water. And below them, ever so small, fresh water clams, buried deep into the fine sand and clay, deep enough to not be whisked away by the powerful tide. And further still, down the river, long past the ripping banks and turns, the river grows wide, and it's rushing current slows to a gentle flow. Still far too fast for one to venture out alone without some means of easy return, yet slow enough that one could skip a rock across its surface, with the right skill, and still have it make a leap or two, though the water isn't very still at all. It's here, some say, that you can see a woman. As the sun sets across the tide, she shall appear, they all say, though she is never the same, and none can quite explain, exactly what they saw once they return, in a fog, to their cars, to make the slow, winding climb up the canyon walls. It was there, one late, sunny afternoon, while standing by the shore, watching the river rush past, as fast as the quickly setting sun. That i saw her. At first, nothing seemed wrong. I hadn't realized i was standing right where they all say she appears, i was merely walking along, and chose to stop, and gaze across the water for a while. When she appeared next to me. Startling me a bit. I said, "Oh, i didn't see you come up" explaining my small start at her arrival. "Tis a beautiful day out no?" 
She turned to me, and it was then, that i realized who she was. For as beautiful day as it was, even in the dieing afternoon rays of sun, one still needed a small coat, or thick shirt, as i turned to her, i realized, she was barefoot, and wearing a robe, that fluttered gently in the breeze. I gave another start. And felt as my mouth went ajar, quickly i righted it, then attempted to make words. Though i could make none. I Stood, staring, long lost on words, as she turned, and looked into my eyes. Deep, they were, like the sea, or the waters of the river rushing now, quietly, past. Eyes, which, if one weren't careful, they could find themselves lost, within their depths. Then, she spoke.

There is talk, from sailors, of a voice, that calls them out to sea, each, and every man, swears that they have heard it, and none can truly describe exactly what they've heard, yet the voice, is one and the same, deep, and demure, quiet like the rush of the wind, and cool as the breeze off the sea. Lost in her eyes, you hear not a word that she says, yet every one, fills you with a different emotion, you feel them slowly fill your body, each one, as the cross her softly moving lips. Then, the wind turns, and her deep, dark, brown hair, rushes around, into her face, and your view of her eyes is blocked, stunned, you're broken from your trance. And you look down, to the space where she was standing. Now empty, the waters that gently lapped about her feet, and there, nestled gently between two rocks, lays an item, and you stood, down, and gently pull it free, and hold it, in the palm of your hand. 

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