Matthew Newton

Something Maple May Be: (part twenty-two) by Matthew L Newton

Lessie stood at the edge of a sharp cliff looking out over the lake. Sunlight beamed across its surface, glitting in the tree tops and blinding her view of the horizon beyond. She was glad to be rid of the office and the trash heep and the winding paths with no end surrounded by broken cars and rotted bodies. She was glad to be home again. Here at least she could take off her clothes and run naked around the fields and forest without caring whether or not anyone may be watching her.

Here at least she felt safe.

“Lessie!” Cried her brother only now catching up to her.
“Put some freaking clothes on, Jesus.” He stammed up the hillside behind her bare body, nearly pushing her off the cliff in the process.

“Calm down you little shit,” she said sharply, raising her hands over her head and spinning around in circles, the rush of cool air giving her goose bumps,
“You hardly ever where pants at home, so you’ve no room to talk.”

Maxwell stood up straight and looked out over the water to the cabins beyond, he could see the one he needed to visit, its door opened though abandond, cold.
“True.” Was all he could say before returning to his sullen state.

“What’s with you lately?” His sister turned to him, reaching down to grab her underwear,
“You’re not the same anymore.” As she dressed she peered across the water to where he seemed to be looking, trying to find the draw of his attention. Ever since they had arrived at the lake a few days ago, even before then he had turned distant, almost broken in a way. He didn’t laugh or cry, whine about much or want to do anything. He just, was.
“Have I done something?”

The door stood open, creeking hinges whispered their peircing shreik over the waters lifeless top to touch his ears and wave around his mind. Windows shattered, glass like sparkling diamonds shimmering in his eyes like the light of a billion stars. He knew the story they told him, he could hear its tale, this cabin in the woods, the death that there commited to him as a memory, stoic and tortured, burning deep in him the pain of each failure. How many attempts would it take to get right. Just one more? Two? How many more of them need to die? Have you ask yourself that?

“I don’t think you should go there again.” Lessie said, catching him so off gaurd that her brother nearly fell over.

“What did you say?” He turned to her stunned, lost in the weight of her eyes and stuck to the thought of this battery, this source for him contained graping in the slightest his intentions.

“Give it up Max, you know that I know, you just haven’t come to terms with it yet.”

There was nothing to say. There were no words to fight for, nothing to grasp, no fist could stay the final take, that want for him to quiver, to quake. Loosing his grip he fell straight over the edge, his ridged body smacking the water below. From above him a scream, much muted. Much muted indeed.

From below him the sediment welcoming. Warm. Familiar.

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868


Categories: Matthew Newton

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