Chapter 1

The Swimming Hole

by: Scorn
The water was high, blue and ridiculously cold for an early Thursday in June. Two little sets of feet made prints in the sand as they barreled towards the ever continuously waving water. One pair of feet lifted into the sky as little hands clutched the brown, rough rope and launched themselves into the cool liquid for a refreshing dip. The children squealed and darted around during and after their swim, and hands clutched together as they ran back into the water for one final swim until they moved away from the sunny, water filled land they called home.

Two large sets of feet slowly made their way towards the lowered water that brought back sweet memories of their fun filled childhood. Moving away was a sweet sorrow for young children, but coming back to the land of their green land memories brought happy tears and joyful chuckles to the two adults lives. Five varying small sized sets of feet hurried to the water in a stampede of giggles and laughter, soon to enjoy the cool, refreshing blue that the adults once felt when they were of similar sizes.

The larger feet moved in a graceful, yet sullen manner towards the brown, rough rope that hung loosely from an old, maple tree. The bottom rung was larger than it used to be from someone tying it over and over to ensure that anyone could swing away and enjoy the freedom of the wind whipping through their hair. One large pair and one medium pair of hands felt the rough and tough contours of the rope, admiring the hard work that went into getting the rope up in the first place as memories flitted through the minds that belonged to those two sets of feet. Toes wiggled in the sand as the owners of the feet began reminiscing about the past, yelling out stories to the little feet wading and swimming about in the water.

Slowly all the feet headed away, the little feet much slower than before, and the older feet struggling to leave, yet again, from the place that brought back the sweetest of memories, only to have the memories fade away again not to be revisited for many years.

Two sets of wrinkled feet trudged through the sand, leaving large empty lines of where the little grains once were. The feet settled themselves onto the ground before the body that belonged to those feet followed. The once rough and tough rope was on the ground, attached to a large branch with dead leaves and dying bark. Memories waded in and out, like the water that was lower than anyone could have imagined. Thoughts of small feet dancing and prancing flew into the minds of the owner's feet, only to bring back small sobs and hopeful wishes.

The feet stayed there, and were often there. Day in and day out, the feet came by, placing themselves around the rope that was slowly being pulled apart that was near the water that got lower and waved less back at the feet that grew up waving back.

Two feet stood alone, in the middle of a barren, once fruitful little, lovely lake. A lake that brought joy, a rope that brought screams, and a forest that brought sweet memories.

No feet stand alone, in an area meant for nothing but cement and concrete. Barren like the once waving lake, the green grasses, tall trees, rough rope and friendly feet that now can no longer be seen.


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