I’m an artist. Some would call me talentless, others—a genius. But truth be told, I drowned whatever talent I had long ago in liquor and dull conversations with strangers.
Until one day, I met a girl. I can’t even remember her name now, but I remember vividly that irresistible urge to read her story, to preserve it on canvas—a memento of the bright emotions she gave me in such a short time.
In those moments, it felt like we had an eternity ahead of us, just the two of us. But clocks tick too fast: blink, and another life has slipped away.
I sought solace in her, but instead, I awakened my deepest fears. And here’s the catch: if a fear has come alive in my mind, then I’m the one who created it. And if you look closer… we’re old friends.
I surfaced from the cool water and grabbed the edge of the wooden footbridge with four fingers. Caught my breath. I don’t remember ever being a bad swimmer—usually, the water obeyed me. Or so I thought. And for some reason, I couldn’t recall how I’d ended up in the river, let alone twice.
"You gonna splash around there all day?"
I raised my eyes and squinted against the summer sun, peering through barely open lids at a boy of about seven. The kid, with neatly combed chestnut hair swept back, held out a terrycloth towel and grinned, revealing a prominent gap between his front teeth.
Lowering my watering eyes, I noticed his bright yellow rubber boots.
"Afraid of getting your feet wet?"
"Don’t wanna get muddy," the boy snorted, plopping down on the edge of the footbridge.
I hauled myself up with my arms, grateful my workouts hadn’t been for nothing, and sat beside him, dabbing my wet hair with the towel. A couple of strands stubbornly clung to my face, and I flicked them away with an irritated jerk.
Dangling my bare feet in the river’s cool current, I glanced around. It felt like morning, and somewhere in the distance, the cheerful chirping of birds greeted us. My heart felt so light that I had no desire at all to remember why I was here.
The body of water was massive, an elongated oval fringed with reeds and wild grass. On the far shore, gnarled, towering trees stood skeletal and bare. Even now, I’d swear they looked eerie—like twisted, gaunt silhouettes that’d only grow more sinister by evening.
