Woman of the Water

Woman of the Water

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Summary

A man finds himself dissatisfied with the sexual pleasures found in the barrios. He tires of the drug-fueled quickies, the long weekends spent wallowing in the grime of Pudenda House and the loveless sex that he's receiving from the women there. One night he is told of the Woman of the Water, and his world quickly descends into one of madness and monomania as he goes to seek her out and finds her there, where she abides and feeds off the sexual energies of mortal men...

Summary

A man finds himself dissatisfied with the sexual pleasures found in the barrios. He tires of the drug-fueled quickies, the long weekends spent wallowing in the grime of Pudenda House and the loveless sex that he's receiving from the women there. One night he is told of the Woman of the Water, and his world quickly descends into one of madness and monomania as he goes to seek her out and finds her there, where she abides and feeds off the sexual energies of mortal men...

Chapter1 (v.1) - Trembling

Author Chapter Note

Cowering in an abandoned schoolhouse, the narrator thinks back to the incidents which led up to the point he is now...

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 13, 2018

Reads: 738

Comments: 5

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 13, 2018

A A A

A A A

Woman of the River

Over the peaks

Where the black trees are bare

Where boney birds quiver

They glide through the air.

-Karla Kuskin

I feel a disconnect. As though every day I’m moving through a thick haze that impedes the movement of both mind and body. Maybe I’m dying. Or maybe the Woman of the River has finally broken me.

I feel like a man who is constantly stumbling. I misspeak often, now. The words start out okay in my mind, but become a tangle before they can reach my lips. As though something turbulent inside me is causing them to scatter and reassemble in all the wrong ways. It acts on my speech as diseases do. Perhaps it’s a malaise of the soul. A spiritual withering. A slackening in that energy that had been ceaseless until the spring of this past year. God…can I get anything out? Anything at all without stumbling over my words? Without making a fucking fruit-basket turnover of every single thing I conceive?

Nobody notices and that’s the wild thing. It makes me question my own reality. I wished I’d never met Mira in the barrios who told me the way. I wished I’d never walked to the banks of Shale River. There on an outcropping of rock in the river channel is a woman with the golden rings woven in her braids of hair. That’s not mere adornment—there’s power in those rings, I tell you. I know. It’s been shot into me, has found a place to settle and is now slowly eating me from the innards to the outtards. Where it’ll stop—if ever—I don’t know. It’s begun to gobble up the energy I once had to work. The energy to love. The energy to think. What’s left? I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’ll eat that, too.

Here I am sitting in a hallway of an old abandoned school thinking on these things. “Mira burn in hell…” Has crossed my lips a thousand times—prayers I send up to the Olympian gods above and the plutonian gods below. Imperatives to be whispered. Commandments made by my mortal self. Maybe I’m just tired. I have not slept all that much in the past twenty four hours. A man ought to get more sleep than this. I cannot function without it. The Woman of the River once lulled me to sleep at night, not with song but with presence, if that makes any sense. Had she been in another room, I likely never would have succumbed to her. As it were…as it were, I did. She’s got power over the blood. She’s got power over bone and flesh and blood and brain. And now she’s power over my soul, as well.

The disconnect grows stronger. Each day I awaken and each day I feel somehow diminished, a little more broken, a little more creased about the edges and along the corners. When I read…the words…they overlap like poorly patterned fabric. I can see the inconsistencies as I look over them, as they get mashed up in my mind. Right now I can sort them out…but it takes time and I read haltingly and in broken stretches of understanding. What I was before I no longer am. And soon, as it gets progressively worse, I won’t be able to read at all. The words will just sift themselves right out of existence, fall away to whatever realm of non-understanding that such things are relegated to. “Your existence,” she once told me, “is yours and yours alone. Everyone else is as insubstantial as a spirit. And now…now you’ll be slipping from this delusion of yours. It’ll start to break down. To fall away. You’re the only thing real, here. And when all has broken down, you’ll be left in darkness. Not even the clock-work winding of Death can take you. Laws all broken down. Physics no longer extant…I know because I can see the strings that hold it together. I’m not a ghost passing through, I was once a dreamer like you. Now…now we can be lovers…” 


© Copyright 2018 Aurora M. Soleado. All rights reserved.

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