What The Water Gave Us





















By Hazelcats











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<p style="text-align:center;">Title inspired by this song

<p style="text-align:center;">Rated PG-13

The water is cold.

It’s dark. The moon shines in the sky, a great, luminescent light hanging in the sky, its companions the stars floating by faithfully.

It’s funny, you think, that such inanimate objects can be so loyal, yet we cannot.

You know that “inanimate” isn’t correct. Of course you know that. You know that the gods control everything and that Artemis is sitting up there right now and that the moon is not to be called inanimate because it would be offensive and you’d be killed on the spot, but you don’t care. Not really.

Yes, the gods control everything. It’s not equivocal. It’s obvious.

And you hate them for it.

Every little thing.

The water is cold.

It’s appropriate.

You retract your hand from the water. It falls from your hand like tiny little beads, shining in the moonlight and disappearing into the dark, black lake below. You don’t know what you’re doing here, why you’re waiting for something that will never come.

''Hope. Peace. Joy.''

Love.

You don’t know why you’re waiting for someone that will never care.

''Despair. War. Sorrow.''

Heartbreak.

There was so little trust, before. Hate, anger, and hurt. But there was trust. There was hope.

Little is still something, and something isn’t nothing.

Trust was false. Trust was fake and pain and lies and wrong.

Trust is gone, now. Gone into nothing.

But nothing was not there. Not yet. There was still something, and as long as there was something...

But what is there, now? You don’t know. The pain is too overwhelming, blocking that something. Pain demanded to be felt, pushing and shoving out the light and taking over the dark. Ruling and controlling it and sending it where it is unwanted and hated. And there, the dark does its job.

It kills.

''What is pain? You don’t think you can feel it anymore.''

Too much.

Or maybe that something is pain. Maybe pain is the only thing you have left.

The water is cold. Just like the world.

Yes, just like the world. We wish it to be warmer, better, but all we get is the cold. And it’s this coldness, the pain that it brings, that we rely on.

The world needs pain. Some chose to ignore it.

Others chose to embrace it.

You look down into the water, into the world below you. A face looks back at you. It is unrecognizable. You reach your hand out, fingers barely touching the surface. It ripples, and the face distorts, changing and disappearing.

This, this bending, crooked face that disappears in the water, this is what is recognizable. Something different and ugly and hiding in the tides.

The water calms, and the other face returns. The water is like glass, and it is a mirror.

Mirrors are like trust. They lie, showing pretty faces and not the cruelty underneath.

Just like the world.

No one is coming.

You know this, now. You had thought that maybe, just maybe, someone did care. That the one person you truly cared about, that maybe, they cared, too.

You have, unknowingly, had trust in someone again. The trust you’ve had, that had seemed dead and gone, had yet to be crushed by the dark.

And now, that trust, that hope, shatters into millions of pieces, tiny shards of glass breaking against the floor.

''No one cares. The world does not care. The gods do not care. That someone does not care.''

The dark creeps up to take hope’s place.

And you, you do not care, either.

The glassy surface of the mirror breaks, and the pretty face disappears.

The water is cold.

Appropriately so.