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Do you remember those whose eyes invariably betray their escape down some mental lane? Theirs is the River God - god with no master but whose mistress stands between the seen and unseen, at a crossroads where already too many have lost sight of the direction from which they came - Hecate.2
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They are drawn to the water, these people, to its silent depths. I see them, I hear their cries. I have been where they too often are and so know them by their voices - I recognize their journey through plight as mine. 4
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This then is hell, not the fiery depths of an inferno but the watery graves from which we wrought our souls. And I, somehow, am in it. Ankle deep, the waters rise and, as colours fade, I become aware that this is a place from which I must once have strayed – I am familiar with its current pulling, pulling, measuring my strength with its almighty presence, gathering its force, marshalling its mass as it moves. I am moved. I lose my footing momentarily and am amazed to find this water buoys me. I might, if I let it, float, and yet, I may drown. 6
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There we stood, caught like an image on film, too briefly together, on an island between worlds. Yes, these were the crossroads where time and tide decided our fate - Had we but known it. There we all stood, some, years hence, perhaps to return; some forever changed: and others? Others who can never be the same – damned by the slow, deep waters; caught up in the undercurrent, until, fully submerged they find they are no longer lost between two worlds but drowned in an internal sea of grief .8
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This is not your story, but mine, as you sought it – part keeper of my soul. For you stood a long while beside me as I felt the waters rise. You saw me, but, in saving yourself, I slipped out of your reach and drowned. Now I reside in the rivers of the souls that knew me. To you, now, I am but a voice from long ago, a presence, familiar, in the gentile breeze – and my tears, my tears are but river water. 10
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Author notes
On suicide: you told me once that it would be selfish; do you remember? And you were right, for in our failure to survive we damn each other. For all who love and know, such grief would be a fatal legacy. The waters run deep when they are silent. Speak. I will not have you drown for my grief and I will not drown for your grieving.
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Comments
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Hmmmm...
That was an interesting write. The premise of water being hell is a different viewpoint. Most of the time water is seen as a healing element, one that is stable and good. I liked that you flipped that. Also, you seem like you're trying to over-sophisticate your writing. Go back to basics. You don't need all the colons and such. Overall, nicely done.
overall: 6.
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Thanks for reading this. I am rather fond of punctuation and while I was writing this I was going though a period of transition. However, I do agree that the punctuation may be over-worked.
The idea for my story came from Greek Mythology... the idea of crossing a river into an underworld (our hell)- this river (the Styx) ''served as a crossroads where the world of the living met the world of the dead, and the world of the mortal met the world of the immortal.Greek Mythology Gods, mortals, and great heroes and villains made their way across the river Styx. Some crossed the river many times, but for most, it was a one way trip.''
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