The river was a place of peace and always had been. The setting sun seemed to float downstream, disappearing beyond the horizon. A gentle breeze wandered aimlessly along the bank, hopscotching over and around every irregularity in the landscape. Like the nocturnal old drunks that seemed omnipresent downtown, it had nowhere to be; only the past to run from.
He was running. His eyes strained for a glimpse on the goal he feared he’d never reach. He could hear it gurgling faintly through the trees. He needed peace.
Panting like a dog roasting the in July sun, he refused to look back. He didn’t know who or what he was afraid might be chasing him but he knew that looking back might just force him to find out. Acknowledging whatever’s or whoever’s existence would give it more power than he had the power to stand against at the moment. He was exhausted.
The day had been long and the night before even longer. His memory got fuzzier from there but he figured that was kind of the point. It seemed that time lost its meaning. In the moments when his mortality forced him to pause for breath, rest, and contemplation, colors seemed to shift before his eyes and he couldn’t help but feel that he was dreaming.
That terrified him like nothing else. He’d long dreamt of escape and many a night had passed in silent, inner turmoil. From the first snore that ripped though the darkness and his eardrums until the first light of the new day poked through his eyelids, he’d wrestle with the angel and the devil. Waking only promised the agony of the day before.
When he could finally stand it no longer, the spirit descended on him. He rose and his legs carried him outward and onward of their own accord. They moved him across the ground faster than he’d ever imagined possible. He could only imagine they grasped the severity of the consequences should his escape fail.
The nighttime buzzed with life as he had never known. He saw tiny, glowing eyes in the periphery that disappeared before he could turn his head without fail. Every snapped twig or rustled leaf made him jump. His heart would skip, forcing him to pause. The rest he found in these moments was never comforting. He knew he needed it but he hated it just the same.
In the stillness, his loneliness would begin speaking to him. The rustling leaves grew louder and busier, and, if he strained his ears enough, he swore he heard dogs barking excitedly. They were always distant, though they were slowly creeping closer. Powerful as his imagination was, he was almost sure that’s all they were. It was the tiny part of him that wasn’t so sure that drove him steadily onward.
He was finally to the river. He burst forth from the woods and it lazily wound around the bend until it disappeared again beneath the sun-scorched horizon. The sparse clouds swirled across the purple sky as if written by God Himself. For the first time, he understood how the ancients came to worship the light, even as it dropped of the face of the earth; possibly to never return again. For him, the journey to and fro oblivion was no less mysterious or divine in that moment.
He’d brought as little as possible with him but, even then, it was too much. Certain things were following him; the very things he’d sought to leave behind. They were the same things he was running from.
He paused for just a second to survey the scene. The drunken breeze rustled his hair reassuringly and his lungs overfilled with air. He drank in the sunset.
The orange ball seemed within his grasp. The space between was intoxicating. He felt himself floating. He was airborne. Higher, higher, higher he rose. Just short, he fell. His outstretched arm strained to be long enough. The sun seemed to mock him with its unwavering stare as he fell away. Once again, he felt all too mortal.
The waters threw their heads back, rolled back and forth by raucous laughter. He went limp as the first drops splashed around his legs. Gasping for air, the water swallowed him whole.
