THE BLUE WATER MOVED
by Sara Hanan
The Blue Water Moved
Copyright 2011 by Sara Hanan
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Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, in whole or in part, by any means, is strictly prohibited. This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author of The Master & the Slave
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The Blue Water Moved
A teenage boy on drugs battling for his busy soldier-father’s love and attention.
THE BLUE WATER MOVED
The blue water moved. I wanted it to be still. My eyes were following its every movement. Swaying here, swaying there - I was beginning to get a headache. I told my eyes to stop, but they weren't listening. They were too engrossed with the music of the water. The water beckoned them to dance, and they danced. Even my eyes were fools. My head felt heavy. My body felt like a ton of bricks was resting on it. I had to get up, but the bricks won't budge. That blue water, it began to get poked. First it was dented, then as if fighting back, it pushed back the drizzle that was attacking it. Soon the attack became more ferocious and the dents were everywhere.
The drizzle was attacking me too - like missiles - but it didn't create any dents. I just got wet. If I could get up, I would fight those sons-of-bitches from the sky. I looked up, but I couldn't see any coming, just felt it on my skin, trying to penetrate. It had control. Now all I have to do was sit still. And listen.
Then it came. The pain. A sharp, shrill sound inside my head trying to get out. My mouth opened, as if trying to let it escape. My eyes were half-closed, and my eyelids, shivering. Drizzles fell on them, and dripped on my lips. Sensing water on my tongue, my saliva dripped the sides of my mouth. I couldn't swallow.
Not when the command was inside my head.
See that rainbow coming down on the water? See it? I didn't. The sky was clear. No sponges-like groupings, just spread-out silver with some greys here and there. But now there’s a spark of colour over the horizon. As I think more about the rainbow, it began to spread itself like a paintbrush dabbed with water and jotted on the canvas cloud. My head was spinning with the formation of the rainbow, as if in tandem.
Here it comes. The full force of the fully-formed rainbow coming down – quickly – like a falling rocket and… DEBUSSSSHHHHHHH!! it landed at the bottom of the blue water. It felt like my head was the one in there.
Looking up, I saw the missiles trying to get to me. I laughed at those bastards reaching only the surface of the blue water and disappearing as if retreating in battle. Bubbles grew from my mouth like released balloons celebrating my victory. Then I heard a shrilled mention of my name.
Not now, not now, I am rejoicing in triumph.
But no one was listening. They came and pulled me out of the blue water and the missiles resumed their attacks with glee. I saw my mother's panicky face and tears welling up on her beautiful face. She cried, “my child, my child” as if nobody knew that. Women only know how to cry in the face of adversity. But men - men of valour they take arms in combat and rescue their comrades in peril. I felt like a ton of brick, but my father carried me like a piece of cotton. Then I remember the cottony cloud. “Did you see the rainbow, dad?” I asked my comrade and he looked puzzled. Of course, soldiers had no time for rainbows. They were too busy making scars for themselves, and etching memories in their minds of conquests and victories. My father had no time to be on home ground. He was too busy making scars.
I heard the voice of a man. He propped my eyelids open and stared into them. He had a needle in his hand. It was my rifle. My mother could have found it by the blue water and given it to him. It was mine. Without it my rainbow would not have been possible. I wanted my rifle back. It brought my father back to home ground. Without firing it, the sky wouldn't burst open and the rainbow wouldn't fall.
But my father did not see the rainbow. If only he had, he would have known I was the treasure at the bottom of it. He would have been proud.
Author:
Sara Hanan