Saturday, December 17, 2011

A Walk Down to the Swamp

The sand was cold and wet, as it seeped its way in between my toes.  From the far end of the lake I could see the weary, jagged rocks hanging at the bottom of the cliff.  Before I made my way down there, I took in a breath to realize where I was.  The smell of the air was rotten like stale water.  It burned my nose with an acidic feel.  Far beyond the horizon, there was a large boat with fringes and stretched canvas covers.  I sprinted towards the water to get a closer look.

I stepped into the water to let them cool.  Once I looked down, I couldn’t see my reflection.  The water had taken the color of the nasty scum.  I dipped my hand in the water that felt like mud, and pulled out a load of seaweed.  I was disgusted.  I wondered if I had time to go back, but the magenta sky was fading to a dark blue.  The fluffed clouds were drifting away into the night air.  I gazed at the moon, which was the only bit of light.  .


Rusted ironwork, chipped paint, and dried blood were on the side of the building.  I stood at the edge of the cliff, peering down at the deserted brown water with no living thing.  I hated the swamp, but I never told anyone.  It was my new home.  It was just a place to get away.

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