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"SSC5(FF?)"
brvnkrz 20471 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"
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07-11-05, 12:27 PM (EST)
 
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"SSC5(FF?)" |
Ack, because I told Arkie that I would if she did. But I'm not sure if this belongs in flash fiction or not. The creek that ran behind my house used to be full and lively and constantly flowing.
It was a man made creek created in the 1960's but my first memories of it are not until the 70's.
It was a beautiful creek. Pure, clean, a smooth flow to it.
It was a place I could go when I was frightened or when I felt creative or reflective. I often wonder how a child can be so reflective, but they can be.
I remember it being a place where I felt safe from the outisde world even when there was nothing to fear.
I can't remember the exact time when that creek started to become different and dark to me, or to be more exact, I can't remember why that creek started to become different and dark to me.
For some reason in my early years it just started to become a place that I feared.
Now when I look around, it is no longer beautiful willow trees and flowers and ravines covered in green. It has become dark and dreery and full of dead weeping willows and weeds and ravines covered in a blinding fog. A fog that makes me fear whatever it is that sits on the other side.
I tried to return to that safe place recently and found myself feeling empty and frightened and hurt and being in a place that I would never be able to find safety in again.
The creek is now full of rage; trying to destruct anything and everything that gets in it's way. I can see the anger and I can see the change and I can see the pain that the creek wants to inflict on anything in it's path. I can see that at the bottom of the creek there still sits something good but it can't be reached because of the raging rapids above it. I want to follow the banks of the creek until I can find it's beauty again, but my fear is that once I start to walk, what lies on the other side of the fog is just a ledge creating a water fall of more angry water dropping off into the abyss. So instead, I stand here, looking down into the creek, accepting that time has changed it forever into a raging flow of darkness and destruction. I can still come to the creek and reflect, just as I did as a child. But the reflections aren't nearly as creative nor nearly as hopeful as they once were.
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