using the prompt of ‘q is for quay’

Write about movement. Sit and watch the world go by. Notice the differences between land and water and sky. If you don’t have a quay, a jetty will do, or a harbour, or a river bank. Tell the story of a character who transforms when they move from one element to the other and how this transformation impacts on their life, their relationships, and their daily routines. This could be your own story.

***

the sun glistens against the

river-dancing among the hues of teal and

indigo. 

To me, the river was a safe place. A little piece of the world that I could hold onto as my own, protecting me from the pain and reality that came from society. When I was at the river, I was happy.

It started the day that my mother took my by the hand and led me down a long, winding pathway until we reached it. We were only supposed to be meeting my older brother there after he spent the entire day running around the park with his friends. We had gotten there a few minutes before he did, and I could only stare at the water rushing over the smooth stones in awe. It didn’t smell weird like the pools that I loved so much, and it wasn’t terrifying like the waves that could swallow me whole that came from the ocean. It was something else, and I fell in love.

I never wanted to leave the river. It held me in its arms and soothed me with its soft sounds. I would beg anyone old enough to take me down to the river, to let me sit by its side and dip my hands in its cool embrace.

Summer turned to autumn, which then turned to winter.

I began to hate winter.  While other children got excited about the upcoming holiday season, or the endless snow, I loathed it all. During winter I wasn’t allowed to go down to the riverbank.

Years passed, and the river stayed at my side. It was almost like I was another of the smooth stones in its bed; it changed me with the hues of teal and indigo that it held.

Years passed, and soon I couldn’t go to my river anymore. The small hideout I had built alongside my brother was left empty, even during the summer. Instead of spending hours alongside it, I was stuck inside bent over a desk working furiously at endless algebra problems until I was too tired to continue on. The being that was almost always on my mind as a child soon vanished, swept away by the tides of homework and typical teenage drama.

I had left my river alone.

Spring turned to summer, and I laughed alongside my friends, grasping a single sheet of paper that held the key to our entire lives.

Summer turned to autumn, and my entire life was packed up in a series of boxes before being sent away from what used to be my home.

Autumn turned to winter, and the hatred that I held towards the season of joy and illness continued to hold strong. I couldn’t remember why I hated it, I just knew that I did.

Winter turned to spring, and in my gut, I felt a pull that I hadn’t felt for years. What used to be familiar was now unknown.

Spring turned to summer, and I returned home.

Summer continued, and I led myself down a long, winding pathway until I arrived at the place I had missed. Fingertips brushed the rough wooden planks of my small treehouse, a smile tugging at my lips as I recall all of the memories that those planks held.

Summer continued, and I found myself sitting by my river, one changed with time and weather but was still my own.

Summer continued, and I knew that I had found the place where I belonged:

the shoddily built house beside the small river. 

 

Featured Image:

‘Car in fog’, Worldoro, Tumblr.com