25. Abandonment
Abandonment
On the third day of sitting on the banks
I began to think all was lost
and that I had been cast aside
and forgotten.
That now that my mother had left
no one else would ever speak to me.
And talking to the dead was pointless
because what could they even say to help?
I was a lost child.
Perhaps I belonged
nowhere now. Not even here.
Perhaps that was why it happened.
Why the spirit-filled water
of the river began to beckon me.
It asked me to come closer,
for it had a tale I would like to hear.
The whispers filled the cave,
persistent, soft, like invisible hands
pulling me towards the edge.
And I covered my ears
but their voices still filtered in.
If you touch the water,
if you drink from it,
we can tell you where your mother is.
As the voices grew louder,
so did my misery.
My very bones felt tired,
and my head felt heavy.
I wanted to lie down,
to rest a little.
But the coarse earth
of the riverbank
and the chilly darkness
of the Underworld
was no match for my warm, soft bed
made of goose feathers at home.
So instead, I stood up, hesitant,
telling myself it was just a peek.
A small look into the river
to see who was calling to me.
As I approached the river water,
the voices rose in an excited crescendo.
I knelt inches away from it
and saw nothing but my own reflection.
My hand rose from my side
and reached for the water,
but before the river could grasp me
my whole body was dragged away
from the edge.