WATER — a fiction

When the river keeps those who drown there.

You might say it is my fault — that I am somehow to blame. I can’t see how that is true. My waters flow here night and day, even in winter, and have done for a thousand years. Am I to stop that process? Am I to circumvent the laws of nature and make the river run uphill for a day? All for one life? One little life?

Ridiculous. No, I blame them, of course. They are the active parties here. She is the one with her hand on his throat. He is the one with his trousers undone. I am simply the passive flow fillings his ears and nose and mouth.

It is a wonder how you try to justify their actions. He was taunted, she never planned this, he was in love, she acted in self-defence. Fanciful. You shall never know their reasons why and you only admit your own ignorance by speculating. 
No, they are here now because of themselves — because of their choices. The river flows this way because it is drawn down, compelled to follow the path of least resistance to the lowest point. They are here because they want to be.

You call me unsympathetic? Of course I am. They sully my waters with their blood; piss in my purity as they pass. They don’t give a shit — unless they are literally dumping their shit into me. Do you have any idea how that tastes?

No.

They are here through their own action. I have not changed course. I have not moved myself to their domain. I have lot leapt from the bed to force them to my depths.

And so I will continue to flow. My waters caress them, hold them, make sure they will stay. You thought I wanted to get rid of them? Oh, by no means. Now they are here, they are mine. I will keep their hair and their hands and their half-lives and their final seconds. I reach up my reeds to steady them, one on either bank. I have washed them clean now. My waters purify. No more hatred. No more pain. None of that filth from before. My payment for a thousand years of abuse. They are beautiful, don’t you think?

Originally published on Tumblr

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