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Beyond the Waters

No one knows what happens after we're gone. But it's better to think that, wherever we may go, something good is waiting or us and we will never be too far from what we leave behind.

By Euan BrennanPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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Beyond the Waters
Photo by Rhys Kentish on Unsplash

“Hey, Carley,” said the mother of two, as Carley ran past.

The mother was huddled against the wall with her two children sitting next to her on the torn rug. Carley politely waved back with a grand smile on her face.

Hayup, Carley,” said Fred, sitting on a crumbled pile of stone under a wooden lean-to.

“Hello, Mr Halliwell,” Carely said politely.

“You doing alright, child?”

“Fine, thanks. How’s your back?”

“Aye, it’s better today but it’s not something that time can truly heal.”

“Don’t say that,” Carley pouted, stopping her run briefly. “You’ll be up and castigating the kids like you always did.”

Fred Halliwell showed her his yellow teeth. “Aye, you’re a kind child. I wish I had your spirit. Be sure you don’t lose it.”

“I won’t, Mr Halliwell. I’ll be seeing you.” She waved and pushed herself back into a run.

She rounded a corner and almost knocked ‘Tight’ Tiffany off her lanky legs.

“Carley Carlson, you silly rascal, watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry, Tigh– er, Miss Tiffany.” No one called her ‘Tight Tiffany’ to her face. It hadn’t anything to do with money, everyone around here shared. It was to do with how tightly she tied her knots. The last time someone called her that moniker, she showed everyone just how tight a knot could really be. Poor old Mr Billy never did manage to get that bracelet off . . . nor his tie.

“Where you delivering to, now?” Tiffany asked.

“Old Catherine up Rivenwood. She should be expecting me, so I gotta go,” Carley said and waved her a jovial goodbye.

She ran through the streets, answering the calls of ‘hello’ and ‘nice to see you’ with her smiles and waves. When she reached the path that led up to Rivenwood Hill, the crumbled house barred her path. A tree had collapsed on top and most of the wreckage had caved in making it at least scalable. Most people took the longer route around to avoid it, but Carley wanted this package delivered as soon as possible.

She clambered over, the inner-monkey inside her working like a charm, and casually slid down the other end. She checked the condition of the white package she was carrying. After confirming it was undamaged, she continued on up the hill.

She reached the lone house – well, it was more of a shed really. It had one room, and a privy stood a couple metres off, but the whole thing was small. Cosy, some liked to say. Carley opened the door, forgetting to knock, and entered the room.

“Mrs Catherine,” she said. She never learnt her surname but she wanted to be polite.

“Carley,” an old voice answered back. “I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

The room was dark, despite it being light out. A smile of glittering teeth shone in the dimly lit house and Carley was able to make out the face of Catherine.

“I’ve, um, brought you this,” she said, handing over the white package.

“I know, dear,” Catherine said. “Would you mind opening it for me? These hands, you see, they don’t work like they used to.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Carley hesitated. It never felt right to open something that was meant for someone else, even with permission from the receiver.

She unwrapped the outer white layer and scrunched it in one hand as she held the inside contents in the other. The silver squared frame reflected the near-absent light, like a beacon in the night. Around the edge was an intricate design, carved in an intermittent pattern of silver birds.

Carley stared at the picture in her hand. She could see it so clearly. “It’s a beautiful picture, Mrs Catherine,” she said.

“It’s of me and my husband.”

“Husband?” Carley said incredulously and regretted acting so stunned. “I don’t . . . Do you . . .” She couldn’t think of what to say.

“He’s not here,” Catherine said simply. She stood up, the chair creaking in the darkness, and walked over to the door. “Come, I will show you where he is.”

Carley followed her outside and the two of them stood on the hillside. A calm wind washed over them and a chorus of birds echoed in the distance.

“He is over there.” Catherine pointed out to the ocean.

“Did he sail to another land?” Carley asked, gazing over the waves.

“You could say that.” Catherine turned to her. “Are you familiar with the tales of our lands?”

“Tales? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“When we lose someone dear to us, they depart from the world. The route is unknown but some believe they pass over the interminable waves. It acts as a bridge between here and what comes next. That way, they are still connected to us via the ocean. If we desire to communicate with our departed loved ones, we speak to the waves.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one,” Carley admitted.

“That does not surprise me. The old beliefs are vanishing as young minds are no longer taught them. I was hoping to pass them onto you before I depart for the waves.”

“No, you’ve still got–”

“Please . . . do not do that.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, I thank you for delivering the photograph.” Carley wordlessly passed it to her at an unheard command in Catherine’s voice. “I imagine you have further deliveries to be made. It’s best you set off.”

“Right . . . Yes.” Carley bowed, trying her best to be respectful, and left.

She rolled down the hill, back to the fallen house, the feeling of melancholy overtaking her. She placed a hand on a crumbled wall of stone and pressed her weight against it, ready to push herself up and over. Her eyes, however, were drawn to a brown slab on the littered ground. It stood out among the rest because of the obtrusive colour. Was it here before? Carley picked it up and realised it was not made of stone at all, but of paper. It was a parcel. It had been wrapped in brown packaging and there was a written name: ‘Jennifer Law’.

Carley hadn’t had her postal business for long. She aimed to help those that couldn’t walk the long miles across the streets where they all dwelt. And, she believed, anything that was wrapped with a name should be delivered. It was a code of sorts. A code she had just now realised.

But there was a problem. She didn’t know anyone by the name Jennifer Law. She would need to ask around.

Catherine was closest. It made sense to ask her first. Carley thought that maybe she could apologise for her previous discommoding and ignorance whilst she was at it. She had a disquieting feeling that she had been rude to the elderly woman.

She stumbled up the hill on strong legs and, with a knock, opened the door again.

“Catherine,” she called out.

No one was there.

Carley closed the door and checked the privy. The door was wide open and inside was void of any human life. She scanned all around the hill but found no sign of her. The waves crashed and Carley turned her head to watch. The blue appeared grander than before. The waters expanded and rustled and the view looked serene. She breathed in and closed her eyes, absorbing the moment before departing from the hilltop and heading back to where she couldn’t hear the waves so clearly.

She asked around: Tiffany didn’t know a Jennifer, old man Fred had no clue, Katie and her children didn’t know. No one knew. No one so much as even heard of her. Was this parcel abandoned because it couldn’t be delivered? Maybe the name was incorrect? It was possible. Otherwise, why would it be there?

Carley shook her head. She had a duty and she aimed to fulfil it. No matter . . . well, depending on the cost, she would do her best.

She went farther down the streets, past her own resting spot, and continued on for some time, asking everyone possible about Jennifer Law. She found a slither of hope in a bemused elderly man. He was sure he heard the name before but couldn’t recall what she looked like nor who she even was. Carley inferred that she was getting closer to this enigmatic Jennifer and continued on.

The road of stone ended, but the road of people continued. Carley proceeded and stopped at a group of four men huddled in a circle around an oil drum with a fire spouting from the top.

“Hi,” Carley said, walking up beside them.

“What’s shaking, little lady?” one of the men asked.

“That’s rude, Johnny,” another man argued. “I’m sure she has a name.”

“I was only being polite in my own way,” Johnny retorted. “What can we do for you, er, insert name here.”

“Nice one.”

“My name’s Carley. Er, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Johnny.

“Wait, I know ‘er,” said a third man with most of his teeth missing. “She’s the one that perambulates around delivering stuff to everyone.”

They all looked at her and cheered and Carley shied away.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t realise it sooner,” said Johnny.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to apologise for. I don’t come this way much, anyway,” Carley quavered.

“Can we get you anything? We don’t have much but we’d be honoured if you were to join us. Daniel here can whip up quite the delicious soup.”

The toothless man smiled. “I wish that were the case,” he said. “But anything tastes good, nowadays. Even Paul’s meat pie is edible, now.”

“Hey, my meat pie’s always been edible, you jokers. Don’t tell me you haven’t liked it all this time?” Paul questioned.

The other three looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“I see how it is,” Paul said sadly, despite a smile appearing on his face.

“Now,” Johnny continued, wiping a fake tear from his eye, “you wanted to speak to us? I’m guessing it’s not food related?”

Carley nodded meekly. “Do you know someone by the name of Jennifer Law?”

The four men pondered over the name and then came to a silent conclusion.

“We do know her,” said Johnny. He looked down at Carley’s hands. “Is that who the package is for?”

“Yes,” Carley said, relieved. “Where can I find her.”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where? Do you think you could point me in the right direction?”

“No,” he said seriously, all trace of his jovial mannerisms having disappeared. He pointed across the ocean. “She’s gone.”

First, Carley’s face reacted, then her heart, and then her eyes.

Johnny offered her a conciliatory pat on the shoulder before she left. She didn’t know what to do. For the first time, she couldn’t deliver something. The feeling tore at her like she was a piece of scrap paper descending into a shredder.

There was only one thing that came to mind.

She wandered to the water’s edge and stood at the bank. The sun was setting and the blue ocean looked orange in the ethereal glow of the world. Carley plucked a square piece of wood at the side of the water and tested its floating capabilities. Once she was content, she placed the brown package on top and let the waters take it.

Her eyes drowned themselves, as she watched the brown parcel float away. It was all she could do. If Catherine was right, then this was the only way to reach Jennifer. She put her hands together and prayed to whoever was willing to listen. She didn’t know what was inside, she didn’t even think to open it, but something told her it was important.

“Jennifer,” she whispered, “please, accept this.” She wiped away her tears. “And . . . I’m sorry.”

She watched on through blurry eyes as the parcel transcended to the world unseen.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Euan Brennan

Just another dot on the earth that wishes to entertain people through writing stories of fiction.

I love creating characters and worlds.

Twitter: @Euan_Brennan

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