The Natures Of Pain

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

A short fiction about a man by a lake side.

Chapter 13 (v.1) - The Lakeside Murder

Submitted: May 16, 2016

Reads: 159

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Submitted: May 16, 2016



The man, young and naïve, stumbled upon the lake there that day. Set with green almond eyes, and brown locks that hugged the base of his neck, but dyed in a hue that would make carmine rose fume in jealousy. Skin soft and no older than twenty-two, purer in color than the very winter powder that covered the ground, now beneath the toes of his feet. His breath was ragged and throat parched. He thrusted his shaky hands into the cold fine powder in an effort to pick himself up. Trying at the chance to finally grasp a bit of air, staining the virgin snow in streaks of leftover crimson. Even if it was cold and piercing, the man needed a breath, struggling to lift his stone chiseled face from the capture of winter’s freezing sugar. Upon his success, he was left in awe.

Untouched by the notions of winter, there, mere feet from him, hidden deep in what was known as the Forever Wonder Forest, was a small lake, still in the silence of the night. Not caring for the new additions of color he introduced by his unknowing hands and stained shirt, he walked over to the sparkling azure, bounded by its allure. The numbness of his face faded, the shakiness of his hands drifted, and his soul was soothed.  His mind which had been filled with streams of chaos and destruction ceased its thoughts of a dimly lit room, glints of silver, the run of the warm molten ruby, and wretched shouts of agony.

Even with only a quarter of the moon up, the water shone like a beacon in the dewy stiff night. The water was clear and blue. He kneeled for a drink and allowed the cold pleasure to take captive his tongue and throat. He felt alive again. The taste reminded the young man of times of him and his sweet little Salen, holding hands and sharing the kisses of spring. Such times tasted just as sweet as the icy fluid. There is no true smell to the water, but with every cup he took of it between his hands, he stole a whiff before guzzling the water down.

To the young man, it was as if holding sweet odorless flowers between his arms. A summery winter bouquet of Tulips, Anemones, Ranunculus, Calla Lilies, Amaryllis, Protea, and blue Violets.  The young man stripped off his now scarlet dripping shirt, and his heavy soiled black pants. He dropped his clothing where he stood, then slipped out of his shoes. He entered the watery paradise taking in the cold of the liquid. He felt as if he was being embraced by the sweet lover, young Salen, as he washed the red from his hair and body. Once he finished, the young man looked up into the sky and let out a sudden sad laugh.

“My dear Salen, don’t worry, sparkle from there. I have given you back your light!” The man said this and plunged himself under the water, readying the sharpened silver in his hands.

© Copyright 2019 Nick Nicosa. All rights reserved.


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