The Pond

I was walking through the nearby woods the other day, looking at the trees.
The sunlight pierced through the canopy above, and produced undulating, otherworldly shapes onto the grassy undergrowth.

I had decided to follow a different path, for I wasn’t afraid of getting lost.

As I slowly walked, listening to the leaves crunching underfoot, and smelling the fresh air, I noticed the trees parting and giving way to a clearing.

Curious, I stepped forward and found myself at the edge of a pond—overgrown with weeds and lotus flowers, their delicate pink and white petals seeming to glow in the sparse sunlight.

As I stood there, I saw a ripple.

And another.

Yet again, another.

Intrigued, and mildly disconcerted, I saw a small hand shoot out of the water—thrashing and flailing wildly.

My mind went blank. Intent on saving the child, I dived into the water, pushing lotus leaves aside.
I pulled the child’s head out of the murky water, held on to his shoulders, and swam back to the pond’s edge; it was deceptively deep.

As I hauled him to the surface, and made to follow him, I felt a hand grab at my leg.

Startled, I looked into the water and saw—faces.
Ethereal, pale faces with hair fanning out in haloes of viridian.

They seemed rather inquisitive.

One of them reached a mottled, webbed hand out—beckoning me—and placed a piece of sea glass into my palm.

I don’t seem to remember what happened after that, and if I’m being honest, the entire incident feels shrouded; pitted with abysses of memory.

Perhaps it was a dream after all.