Views of The Water

He steps out of a home, his own he's sure. Barefoot at dawn, he hears the cacophony of birds. Each of them with their own little meaningless life to lead. Each with a story he knows he'll never know.

Treading in that moistened cold soil. The kind that's always present no matter the season. The type of which filled every gap on your sole and stuck to your shoe like clay.

But he didn't have to worry about that. He was barefoot and shirtless, his sun kissed skin prickling to the dawning air. The clouds moved in waves while the light flashed through the trees. The lights were all around him.

These flashing lights blinded him but despite it he could still see where he was going. The cold wet path he's seen too many times to forget. This wasn't the first time he trotted the path but he doesn't remember how many times he walked through here. The footsteps long ago were washed into a path by storms. His legs still remembered the roots. Where the bumps and troughs were.

But he never felt them before. That's why he's barefoot.

To his amazement he arrives to a frozen lake. The misty ice stretching far and wide. As though a cloud had fallen. Blanketing the waters in their embrace. Only thing is, here the water is ice. He knows, he remembers it's the middle of July.

It shouldn't have ever gotten cold enough as to freeze a lake over in just one night. It didn't really make sense to him but here he was, faced with the impossible. There's been a lot of weird things going on. Some mundane, some sad and unfortunate.

He wondered where he stood at in terms of that spectrum.

The dawning sun's light shrouded his eyes because of the lake's glassy surface. It was intense enough to burn him but regardless he stood there facing the lake's light, he had decided today was the day he'd see the lake.

Now it's frozen over in the dog days of summer. He wanted to feel sorry for himself. If he was going to be honest with us, he'd say that he doesn't even like mountains or, that he spent all his life in the city.

Yet our man is right here in power. Watching the ice lake freeze over despite him sweating from the humidity.

He thought about why he ended up here. How it all came together. Like equations equaling out zero, no matter what you put into them. That's how he felt the hand he'd been dealt felt like.

No matter how many times he ran it over in his head. He can't blame himself, and he can't tell us to blame her.

You see it was in the coldest winter of the their lifetime that they hit it off. In that fiery pit, he loved her time and time again. Never seeing that what she loved him for was something just about any dude with a car can get her. In short, she was colder than winter, more red than the devil is and, more heartless than the guys who killed Saint Pablo.

Yet, he still loved her.

In those, cold eyes he couldn't see her expressions, a voice so smooth you'd think you were hearing voices. Skin that when touched, it was like you put your hand on a stove.

In that numbness, he loved her.

To him meeting her was like a shooting star fell with a million bucks strapped to it.

And to her, well something's are better off never being known.

He opened his eyes. He was done reminiscing about her. Going back to staring at the frozen, misting lake, he noticed he could see himself in the ice.

Its glassy sky was completely different though. He knew his sky was shining blue and orange yellow but this one, in the reflection, was a deep, deep gold. He watched his reflection look at himself with eyes that didn't even see him.

It was a soulless stare.

Looking up he realized he had stepped out onto the lake. He was right in the middle of it. Without ever realizing just how far out he had wandered. His feet were cold but, thankfully he didn't feel like he was breaking the ice with his weight. He hasn't even heard the tell tale cracking that sounds like a million wires writhing.

All he could hear were the birds, each with little lives he'll never know. Just like how they'd never know his. His life wasn't a lengthy story to tell but it wasn't merit of telling it to anyone. It was a story he'll never write or tell.

His own little treasure that'll die with him.

The ice crackled when he thought that. The birds call changed to screaming, a building chorus he never heard before.

Taking in that swansong he realized that should he scream. Just really yell and, he'd be free. He'd get the stress out go back to the cabin and shower the sweat away.

He breathed in.

And exhaled.

Breathed again.

And screamed.

He screamed so loud his lungs burned, his eyes watered, his head went weightless.

And then he screamed some more.

The wind carried his screams and the sun wept at the song.

The clouds whitened in shock that a man like him lived and walked the earth.

And the ice disappeared.

Deep into the depths of the lake he fell.

And watched the waters wade and lap over him.

His tears mixed with the water and the lake loved him for it.

Waking up to news about the world's longest recorded sunset, he realizes he left the radio on.

So many strange things have been happening lately he wondered if hell would freeze over next.

He chuckled.

Stepping out of a home, his own he's sure. Barefoot and sun kissed, he decides to go to the lake.