I stood at the river’s edge in the fading light. The letter was still in my coat pocket. The weight of everything I had done sat on my shoulders, pushing me down. The sky, orange and pink from the setting sun, looked nothing like what was inside me.
I gazed at the water, its surface reflecting the dimming glow in my eyes. Darkness crept in. Memories flitted around me like fireflies, their flickering light both haunting and mesmerising.
The water whispered of redemption, of others who had stood where I now stood, their burdens as heavy as mine.
The past was a ripple in still water.
As gloom enveloped the river, its beauty faded from the reflections in my eyes; it was too shrouded in shadow to be seen.
I stood at the water’s edge, grappling with the ghosts of my decisions. The sky darkened.
I lay on the grass and closed my eyes.
I opened them to a starlit sky.
I rose from the grass. It was late. With each step away from the river’s edge, I felt as if a part of me had been left behind.
As I approached the crest of the hill, I saw a distant red glow on the secluded grass plain below. I heard chanting.
I passed through tall grass. The wind was cool. The trees cast shadows, and I heard the rustling of leaves.
As I walked closer to the bonfire, I realised that the voices belonged to children. It was a scene out of Lord of the Flies. They were singing and dancing in a circle, their laughter mingling with the crackling of a towering fire.
The fire lit the children’s faces, their laughter a stark contrast to the shadows that had haunted me moments before. Drawn by the warmth, I felt a surge of nostalgia. It reminded me of my own childhood, a time when innocence wrapped around me like a blanket.
The children danced with unrestrained glee, wild and carefree. The flame burned brightly and its edges were harsh red like a drawing. The sky was clear apart from the moon.
As I approached, I stumbled and fell onto my face, right in the soil. Dazed, I remained there for a moment. The earthy scent enveloped me.
When I finally pushed myself up and brushed the dirt from my face, a figure emerged from the shadows. A child, no more than seven years old, approached me with an air of regal confidence, a crown perched atop his tousled hair. A young Arthur, perhaps. Or Genghis Khan.
He signalled for me to join them.
The crackling of the fire blended with the chanting, and it dawned on me that a drum was beating in the background.
The children’s chants grew clear as the scene filled with colour. Their voices rose in unison, weaving a melody that resonated deeply. Words flowed from their lips, but they were not in any tongue known to the modern world. The language felt ancient and tribal.
Their singing and the fire warmed both my heart and my spirit.
As I stood before the blaze, a child brought me a wooden chalice and motioned for me to drink. I drank. The liquid was green and bitter.
Thirty minutes passed while I sat in front of the fire and the children danced around it.
The world slowed, and the warmth of the fire seeped into my bones. The bitter green liquid left a lingering taste on my tongue, earthy and unfamiliar.
The spirits emerged from the shadows of the trees. Their ethereal forms glided towards the fire, casting long silhouettes against the flames. They spoke without words, their voices resonating within my mind like a chorus of ancient echoes.
They showed me everything. My mind traversed vast expanses of space and time. I witnessed the birth of stars, the collision of galaxies, the intricate dance of subatomic particles. The secrets of the universe unfolded before me like the pages of an ancient tome.
The night slipped away and I was left in a meditative state. Then the children left.
As the flames danced one final time before fading into darkness, I felt a shift within me. Like Plato emerging from his cave, I had glimpsed a reality beyond my previous comprehension.
The rising sun painted the sky, its warm light chasing away the last of the night. I stood, my legs unsteady, my mind clearer than it had been in years. The weight that had burdened me at the river’s edge now felt different—not lighter, perhaps, but more purposeful.
The grass whispered beneath my feet with each step.
As I crested the hill, I paused to look back at the now-quiet field. The bonfire’s ashes smouldered gently. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air, and turned to face the day.
The past was a ripple in still water. Ahead of me, the river ran on to the sea.