River Boat
Amelia learned that it was hard to put on a life vest while actively drowning. “Let’s build a boat,” he said softly as the river water engulfed them, dirty waves peaking and crashing before they could fully catch their breath. A storm continued to brew in the distance — the sky was turning grey, and the leaves of the floating trees had flipped over to reveal their secrets. He used the trunk of one of these trees to sculpt the boat; he was good with his hands and the knife he kept close to his chest.
The waves from the storm began to die down but the water continued to rise — squeezing Amelia’s lungs and licking at their hearts. He pulled her on board the makeshift ship, their clothing stained with the stench of sewage, the yarn hair of a child’s cloth doll attaching itself desperately to the tree trunk. They traveled for days alongside floating paperback novels and the bright peels of oranges from a time before the storm. Amelia became accustom to the smell of dirty air and the way it flowed up their nostrils and into their throats like ash.
On day three he mentioned he was thirsty, and on day four a dark cloud began to chase them, or perhaps it was merely the shadows of the abandoned buildings on either side of the river. The river became quick and swift as the cloud devoured the water behind them. Amelia noticed the water turning black and cold. They reached a bridge, but the water was too high, and she watched as he pulled out his knife to cut the bridge in two. The bridge fell into the water and was consumed by the cloud, the wooden arches creaking and bending; engulfed into the mouth of the shadow.
They traveled for many more days until they reached a cave where he assured her that they would finally be safe. Inside the cave the cloud passed over them and their hearts were temporarily frozen in their chests. After some time, the boy peaked his head out of the cave. Amelia could feel the warmth of the sun; their clothes had finally begun to dry out. But she saw the fear in his eyes and a tightening in her bones under the skin. They had become the darkness. There was no water left.
