Author: Andrew Scott Schilling PM
A Short StoryRated: Fiction M - English - Drama - Words: 652 - Published: 06-02-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2526139
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
He was a college kid leaning over a high balcony. The college loomed out over a deep river that sparkled in sunlight, that glowed under the moon. It sparkled. He leaned far into the breeze, running over him like flowing water, and he thought of jumping. But what would it prove? That he could do it. He knew he could do it. On this day he craved death like a starving man craves a meal.
The bottle was stronger than the college. And all day he was to be studying he drank. He drank completely. Every bottle on his living room table was incomplete. She was gone. But he never really cared that she was gone. He liked to be with her at night and avoid her otherwise. But she had always been there.
He jumped. The trees so natural waved at him as his body rolled into the fall, straight down. He plunged through the rushing wind toward inevitable salvation. Relief is that of which he sought. There was none. At the bottom of the fall there was only grass and blood and the splayed body of a college kid that could not survive here. This world is harsh.
Well, the alligators were numerous in the place he hunted. And he strove to decimate the population. For they were scaled things he could not understand, though they were just as he was. Blood pumped through their hearts as similarly as his. But his heart hated them, and they could not convince him. Even delicate eyes peering innocently from the water like a wordless child did not breed compassion from where he stood.
A shot rang out. A scaled body slumped and rolled in the rocking waters and then dipped below the surface where a yellowish belly bulged up with somewhat of a splash. He pulled the whiskey bottle from his waistband and pressed its heat to his lips. It tasted like a bullet.
A voice called out his name. York. It asked what he did here, and he turned to see a man. Large, a terrifyingly large man, whose mere appearance shook his limbs in a way he could not resist. The same question resonated in his ears this second time. It seemed that they were caked with mud from crawling through the marsh towards his godless killing, yet he heard.
And York knew the man. He had seen him before. On some accounts he would stand on the opposite shore of the river and watch the blood spilt from the other. He never spoke. He never objected. This time he sure did.
When the man trailed off with York trying to reach him with his vision, blood in his eyes, the world seemed balanced to someone. More evenly populated, and even with a college balcony looming over York's bleeding head.
It was the balcony that seemed to call to him. It would be such an investment to open his college here. It was a strange place but unique and attractive. It was all coffee drinks, computers, and balconies now anyway. The property owner had died in his sleep no more than a month previous, and at auction it had gone for a more than reasonable sum. The river that ran beside it was overpopulated with less than withdrawn alligators. It did pose a concern.
When the last brick was laid the foreman stood back to admire the building. It was a nice place, quiet and calm. The owner would be surely pleased. It seemed to move over the angry river very artistically with a strong captivity. It controlled the waters rushing violently over some scarce rocks with its safety and stability. But when the blueprints were sat in front of him and he looked to the structure they had built he had a religious revelation. It needs a balcony. And he fell to his knees in tears.