Thoughts.

            So, people talk to each other. Maybe sometimes they talk to themselves alone. On their way to work in their car or hidden at the back of the bus, thinking no one can hear, trying to sort things out. Tired of the loneliness inside their head. Creating other people, other voices, to be there for them. They need it. At least, they believe they do, truly. Considering how strange it is, you’d think they wouldn’t even try. But loneliness is much worse than stigma, that’s for sure, and no ugly stare from some random stranger is ever going to stop them from calming their echoing void inside. You’d be surprise what the voices have to say sometimes, they’re quite amusing when they try. Sometimes they don’t, and it’s quite daunting to even try listening. Or giving them a voice to begin with.

            You’d think talking like that makes people insane, or that they must be insane to talk to themselves to begin with. Maybe not. Maybe they’re the sane ones. Don’t you think? Maybe not. In the end, they’re avoiding their own silence. Something underneath all that smooth surface that screams to get out. I think the silence reminds them of that inevitability. That’s it’s bound to happen. That the water can’t stay smooth like that forever.

 

“Isn’t it wonderful though? The crystalline shore, almost see through. You can see all the fishes swimming and if there was a boat, it would appear as it’s floating in mid-air!”

What a sight must that be, I guess. But the birds are flying above my head, and they’re vastly more interesting than the ever so still water. They always have something to say, it’s quite wonderful to listen to them. Sometimes they have some tales of adventure, or fantasies that most people can’t imagine. Today, a stork took a gentle dive and landed on the shore with me. Now both our feet were enveloped by the invisible water.

 

“It wasn’t that busy today” he said. “I’ve flown over that mountain over there, and it was quite tall. Had to use these quite a lot!” He stretches his wings, as one does after waking up from a nap. He seems to have enjoyed himself. He usually flies with the other birds, but they can’t cross the mountain, so he must have had some time alone today.

 

“There’s this old man. He lives on the other side of the mountain. I’ve told you about him before, but today, I took a rest upon his hut, and watches him go about his day.” He sat down, near me, his gaze upon the mountain. As if he was looking through it, towards the man he was talking about. “He didn’t do much, just went to the well and took out some water, then poured some for me in one of his bowls. I didn’t think he would notice I was even there. I drank, and he sat down and started talking.”

 

“There’s a deep sea creature, living under every lake, every pond, and every sea. And every one of them, know one another. They’ve never met, you see, but they’re connected. Maybe by the water, or the currents, or the small crabs carry words from one to the other endlessly. Maybe it’s magic, but I doubt many would still believe that.” He paused, looking ahead with a sigh. His eyes looked lost into his past, searching for something. Maybe a way to remember the story, or memories of his long lost belief in that magic.

“They’re very friendly folk” he started, and his gaze shifted towards the sky. “They’ll never be the ones to cause any harm to anyone, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at them. They look like your biggest fear, if it could take the shape of a sea monster. Not the prettiest bunch, I can tell you that much. But very friendly. They do like to pretend to be nasty the first time they see you, to get a good scare out of you, something to make them laugh. But they’re always there, ready to help.

Last time I met one, I was just a young boy, and I didn’t fear much. I took a deep dive into the village lake, and out it came, darting straight towards me. I was scared of birds back then, so this one had dozens of wings coming out from everywhere on its body. After the shock went away, I learned so much that day, about the world, about the sea and all the waters that flow in the world, and about the ones that don’t flow anymore. That’s where they come from. Or maybe they create them, it wasn’t clear.”

He stood, looked at me, and then slowly walked towards his hut. “Maybe tell your friend to talk to the one in his lake” he said with a smile, and the darkness of the room engulfed him, the door finally closing.

“That’s all he had to day. Crazy old man. But he was kind enough to let me rest” He said, and finally took off, leaving me alone on the shore.

I wonder if he was even talking, or if I just made all of that up. I don’t think it matters anymore. I like hearing things. Sometimes they even listen to me talk. We rarely have conversations though, they just seem to take off as soon as I’m finished or they’re done talking themselves. Maybe it’s because it’s all made up, or maybe birds don’t like to talk. I’ll never know.

But there’s still water. And the water is still, so still.

I don’t want to even look at it, it’s making me nauseous, motion sick. Ironic, right? But there’s something about it that I cannot escape, some sort of eerie feeling. If only it would move slightly, some waves perhaps, but nothing. I want it all gone, but it’s so beautiful, and it’s a god damned lake, I can’t make it go away. Shit.

I jump in, and swim. And swim, to the deepest part of the lake. Yet even here, looking down, I see the bottom. Some large rocks covered in grass. It’s unnaturally still. I can see my own reflection. I want to get out, but it’s a warm day, and the water is perfectly cold, exactly what I need. So maybe I stay. Maybe that sea creature comes. Maybe it will have spiders and pincers and all sorts of crazy things. Heh, if it’s real, I’m not looking forward to seeing it.

The stillness grows stronger, and the birds are all gone now. I lost so much time.. how long have I been here for? I don’t remember anymore, but the uneasiness grows stronger with the silence. Something is definitely coming, something is definitely underneath the surface. I can feel it. Maybe it’s true after all.

I take a deep breath and brace myself for the worst, and look below. To greet the creature, my fears, all the strange possibilities that could be. But there’s nothing. The water, as clear as ever. As still as ever. Just my reflection.

Just me.