My very own short...

This is part of a short story I wrote this spring.

Lacing her fingers she placed them against her forehead as if that would help block the hard sun which bounced off everything, causing even bones to ache with the sharpness of it. Lungs-full of searing air came and went like so many small deaths, each one rippling in and out, not really wanted but needed. Above her head stretched the vault of blue, but an unkind blue, a blue like one that had been painted many years ago in a house only to turn out to be a bad choice, and one that with time, only became more dingy and ugly.

Walking forward across the hard ground her eyes took in the landscape yet again. For the hundredth, no the thousandth time. She was born in it and would die there, yet still it appeared strange and harsh. The landscape consisted of bare rocks on a stretching plain, which then crashed into mountains that hung over it like sentries, guarding and repressing. All around was dry, deep dry, horribly dry, shatteringly dry. Dust swirled to meet the hot horizon then sped on fierce winds to pound into each structure and person in it’s path, chipping away slowly at the world. Sand sifted into everything, piling in the streets and blanketing the houses. As she pressed her fingers through her hair, its rough, parched length caught at the cracks in her thumbs and hung there like spider webs, and every muscle ached with what was known as water pains. Not that there had been water in her time or even in her mother’s time. It lived only in the tales old people told. The stories said “once there had been an abundance of water; once all had been green; but now no longer”.

It had been taken away to protect them. Water had been the problem; it had caused wars or the rumors of wars, even dividing households, and there was no controlling it. It just came springing up, overflowing dikes, and where it wasn't a wild torrent, it just seeped into everything. So They had removed it, slowly stopping the flow meanwhile assuring the people this was for their well being. That they had come up with a much better method of getting and retaining in the body the life giving liquid.. And so over time people became used to seeing it less. The landscape changed, and the new generations that were born didn't know the difference. The people changed as well, growing old before their time with skin that was dusty even when clean, eyes grayed and shadowed with a blankness that could not be removed. And the few old, oh so very old, who still remembered when the last of the water had been, shook their heads and sighed. But of course they never voiced too loudly the memories that resided within.

Every year there was a high day, a celebration that ended with all being given a small bottle of water, perhaps an ounce worth, from which they took one sip, and then (to symbolize that it wasn't needed anymore) the remainder was poured out on the ground. For a moment one might think about swallowing the rest, but the girl had never known anyone to actually do it. The tales of those who had were dark. They would come and with a nonchalance which made it all the more frightening, remove the water drinker, and the offender would never to be heard from again. Even more frightening were the strange times when out of the ground a little spring of water would come bubbling up as if glad to be released. But that was dealt with swiftly, strange machines were brought in, concrete poured and that piece of land sealed off for five years. If there was a village near it to bad, the people were evicted without even the chance to gather much of what they possessed. With the price of trespassing afterwards, death.


Sitting on a rock to rest, the girl rubbed her hands up and down it, feeling it grit beneath her fingers. The wind blew and more grit coated her body, gray layer upon gray layer. Tilting her head forward, she gazed at the ground with an intentness bordering on anger, whispering, “Let the water come back, oh let it come back, even if it caused wars and troubles, let it come back.” Silence followed that whisper, then her eyes caught the first change in color, the soil looking a deeper brown, and the brown was spreading. Jerking upright, she knew somehow that this was water. Shuddering, she wondered what she had called forth aware that this would cause pain and suffering for her whole village. Futilely she scrabbling to cover up the water, throwing rocks on it burying it under. But at the same time a kernel of wonder in her mind tormented her with the desire to drive her hands into it, to bring the wet mud to her face and breath in the scent. Who knew that water had a smell? The old people had never mentioned that. Sharp, spicy, sweet, the smell of life or perhaps the smell of death? Which was it? Standing up and stepping back, she stared at the pile of rocks, at death and life. If she touched it, they would find out. They always did and that would bring death, but would that be real death? Was it real life she was living? Did those who drank that full measure of water know full life for a moment? Suddenly, a dry chuckle trickled from her throat and bending over she began to toss aside the rocks, then gently laid her hands on the water dampened spot. Slowly her body relaxed and she sunk her hands in and dug down sending showers of sand up all around her, digging and digging


After a time she felt eyes on her, and stopping, she looked up, catching sight of a man standing and watching. Tilting back her head so as to look him in the face, she said, "I didn't expect you so soon, Usually it takes two hours for you to sense the coming of water." The man looked at her and didn't speak for a time, and then replied, "But you see I am the keeper of the waters. I know where all my waters are and where they go. This one could not come if I did not send it. Child, do you want more water?" At this question, she blinked and stared. More water,? Want more water? Who could give water? Rather tentatively her answer came "Yes, sir... yes, I want more water. Even if that means death, please give me more water". Reaching out, he grasped her hand and lifted her up. Then stepping into the damp sand, he spread wide his arms and called to the water, called it forth from the ground, and with a joyous shout it burst upward. Out of the split rock, it poured and from all around it came, bubbling and singing vibrant water. Catching her eye, his twinkled in return "I think we need a little more don’t you?" A murmur which came from the very bones of the earth soared into song, then to a choir of sound, and from the mountains there burst a cascade of pure water that spilled down it's face, shouting it's triumph to the sky. Spinning the girl made ready to run, exclaiming that she must find her family, must bring them to this glory. They too must find the water. But the man, throwing back his head laughed and laughed, a sound that infused the world and her very soul with golden light. Then taking her hand once more, he said, "So little one, I will come with you to make the journey easier." ..................................................................