The Lake

Blazing like a fire, the lake smoldered red in accord with the sunset. He crouched on the lake’s edge, a grassy strip that abruptly surrendered to gravel. Staring at nothing in the water, the man’s eyes reflected a fiendish scarlet. Surrounded by peaks set like teeth against the evening sky, the isolated lake was rarely visited by human beings. The pristine environs seemed tainted by the man’s presence, as though a malevolence surrounded him like a stormy cloud.

His hands absently traced circles in the gritty earth as his conscience roiled. The quiet prevailing over the area juxtaposed with the chaos that was the man’s mind. He was unsure whether the events of the last two hours had truly happened or if he was trapped in a unspeakable nightmare. His fingers found a small rock buried in the ground. He stood, and studying the rock as though it had offended him, pulled his arm back and hurled the stone forward. The rock’s sudden contact with the smooth surface of the lake echoed off the evergreens that stood guard over their watery charge like soldiers. The resonance of the splash reached all the way to the mountains.

The man grasped at his temples in sudden agitation. The oppressive evergreens seemed to be growing, towering over him; their expanding shadows from the fading sun pointing in angry accusation. The crimson ripples, created from the pebble’s penetration of the water, reached the shore, gently sweeping over the gravel as though whispering for silence. The man remained clutching his head, as though he wanted to crush it between his palms. Impulsively he started towards his truck, parked several yards back in the trees, then thought better of it and began pacing the lake’s edge. The sun was nearly gone now, descending behind the mountains as though weary of the scene before it. Aware that the light would soon leave him, the man began gathering wood for a small fire. It had to be dry wood, he knew, or else the fire would be smoky. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and crouching once again at the shoreline, lit the twigs heaped under the larger pieces.

Once the fire was stable, he went to his truck and retrieved a flannel shirt and a heavy khaki jacket. Pulling on the jacket, he held the shirt up before himself, searching it over. There, a dark stain down the side. He bundled the shirt in his fist and marched back to the fire, now burning merrily at the water’s side. He cast the shirt into the fire, where it was slowly consummated to ashes. The man seemed calmed by this, and sat beside the comforting flames, which held the oncoming dark at bay. Melancholy soon overcame him, however, and once again he retreated inside of himself. Rubbing the nape of his neck, he wondered if anyone alive had yet discovered what he already knew. Exhaling heavily, he thought of his young son, at that moment probably asleep in his bed. A cold fist squeezed his heart at the thought that he might never see his son again.

The only light now was cast by his fire. The trees transformed into eerie witnesses, their suffocating presence intensified by the weight of the secret they held. Clouds began moving in, stern keepers of the stars, eliminating any feeble light they might offer. He closed his eyes; the tempest of his thoughts beat him into a sleep resembling unconsciousness. The fire slowly died beside him; the night crept eagerly forward as the last embers acknowledged a lost battle. Darkness blanketed all, concealing the man in its voluminous folds. The lake, now matte black and undisturbed, had forgotten the man’s violation, but the rock lay where it had been thrown, deracinated and left forever, only the evergreens aware of the crime committed against it.