The Creek
Page 1
The Creek
A Short Story
Copyright 2015 Rae Avery
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
Note from the Author
The Creek was inspired by the book, Women Who Run with the Wolves. I took all of the knowledge she provided and created a literary piece that symbolizes the coming of age for young men and women and dealing with that inner turmoil and development of the intuitive nature.
The Creek is a completely analogous piece that focuses heavily on finding and nurturing that feminine aspect of dark, intuitive knowledge that is within every human being. It speaks to the part of us that wants to remain a child because we fear growing older. It speaks to the part of us that wants to see the beauty of life, but is overcome with the darkness of reality.
We are a race of imagination and illusion. I hope you enjoy the picture I have painted for you in words.
This is another piece that has been written and edited completely by me, so if there are any typos, I sincerely apologize; however, I hope you still enjoy the story.
In the foothills, there is a forest with a fast-flowing creek that everyone has heard of, but no one can find. A young man, older than time itself, resides in the hidden coves amidst the forest trees and protects the wildlife and creatures. Because of him, this water has never been touched by human skin. The elders tell the children, in campfire tales, that magic shrouds the area, and only the purest of hearts can find it without the risk of painful dismemberment and gruesome punishment. It serves as a warning to children, telling them not to follow the magic within and around them.
This, naturally, is a story to scare children into staying out of the darkest part of the forest, the place no one wants to go. The warnings are of the thick poison berry bushes that will kill slowly; the high-sprouting weeds that cut through the skin, causing wounds that never heal; and the vengeful trees that reach to God’s eye and block the sunlight from hitting the Earth’s floor, making it impossible to see the path before you.
“Fear,” they say. “Fear the warlock at the creek and the witch in the forest, for they are the monsters in the night.”
Children’s stories, however, usually only serve to ignite the imagination, enliven the curiosity, and embolden the bravest of the young. Lisa was a curious spirit and filled with gentle kindness. She lived with her grandmother at edge of the forest, in a village rarely seen, except for by tradesman and wanderers.
On a sunny summer day, with the wildflowers poking up through the ground and intertwining with the blades of grass, Lisa, in all her curiosity, stared at the gate of flowers that lined the mouth of the forest. She raked her eyes up the bark of the trees, and into the sky, wondering what hid in the shadows beneath. In the back of her mind, she remembered the stories about the warlock and the witch, with their entourage of deviant magical creatures who lead children astray.
In a fit of rebellion, Lisa ignored the warning and strolled through the wildflower gate, into the forest, and onto an unbeaten path. Faint whispers echoed off the leaves and branches of the tall, thick trees rising and spreading as far as she could see. The oaks were mighty; the evergreens, vibrant; the pines were fragrant; and the whole of the forest brought mystery and fascination, with bushes and flowers and roots sprouting with pods that looked like eyes watching her pass.
The wild whoosh of flowing water reached Lisa’s ears as she strolled down the path. She smiled in triumph. In all her youthful glory, she skipped toward the sound, following the whispers carried on the wind, which eventually led her to the creek that no human hand has ever touched - the creek that everyone wanted, but no one could find. She burst through trees in her bounding glory and there it was, still in its presence, yet flowing in force. A shiver rose in Lisa’s spine as she watched the clear, icy water splash against the Earth on its cyclical journey.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, with lively colored gardens scattered across the muddy canvas surrounding the creek. A light breeze whispered through the trees, and, dancing in her vision, were the most sensational hues of sparkling purples, hungry reds, and liquid blues. The greens closest to the creek were bright and luscious, full of life and vivacity. There were dark blue and red berry bushes, lush and abundant in their bloom, parked at the base of trees that looked like sentries of the forest. The soil surrounding the edge of the water was dark and fertile. Large stepping rocks went from one side of the creek to the other like a bridge, and on the other side were even brighter, newer colors of pinks, violets, and sunlit oranges.
Lisa let out a childish giggle and set down her basket. To feel the soil between her toes and the water wash her feet was all she could imagine as she made her way to the water, until a young man suddenly materialized before her, with eyes the color of a clear sky, hair the shade of the sun, and skin a reflection of the moon.
“You cannot cross this water, girl,” he bellowed in a voice so deep it rumbled the ground below her feet.
Frightened, Lisa ran back down the path, all the way to her home at the edge of the trees, in the village that nobody sees.
For a long, hot month, Lisa could think of nothing else but the beautiful creek, and the flowers, and the bushes, and the stepping rock bridge. She wanted to reach the other side to dance with the foxes, sing with the birds, and run with the wolves. She wanted to feel the mossy life that grew on the rocks below her feet. She wanted to leave the dark part of the forest, colorful as it was, and explore the side with shrubberies and vegetation that looked as if the Gods had splashed them with paint.
“Perhaps, he will not be there again,” Lisa mumbled, as she gazed longingly at the wildflower gate that lined the mouth of the forest.
Bravely, she again ventured past the trees, into the forest, up the path, following the whispering of the wind and the sound of cascading water.
Her eyes twinkled at the sight of the fast-flowing creek. There was no sign of the young man, so she moved closer, edging toward the rock bridge, her mouth set in determination, and her eyes filled with anticipation. This time, she got so close, she could taste the earthy soil on her tongue and feel the misty spray on her skin as it bounded downstream against the hardest parts of the earth.
Before she could touch her feet to the water and onto the first rock, the young man appeared from behind an oak.
“You cannot cross this water, girl!” he roared in his hallow, aged voice. His eyes were stormy gray now, and his hair a bright orange. His skin was more sallow, and he was still just as frightening. So, Lisa ran as fast as she could, back to her home at the edge of the trees.
Still, as is typical of young adventurous girls, Lisa’s interest and desire were stronger than her fears. Every month for many years, she would venture past the wildflower gate, back through the forest, up the now-well-beaten path, following the whispers in the wind and the splashing whoosh of the water. Each time, just before she reached the cold, flowing creek, the young man would appear and shake her soul with his thundering warning.
“You cannot cross this water, girl!”
Each time, his appearance was changed, with his hair a different shade of yellow or orange or red; his eyes always matched the sky; and his skin matched the moon.
As the years went by, Lisa grew older, more beautiful, and brave. Each month, moving up the well-worn path, she would come to the creek and s
tare in wonder at the magnificence of the world beyond the water. Just before reaching the stones, she would smile at the young man and dart back up the path before he could create the tempest that shook her to her core; the voice that seemed to encompass both sky and earth, water and fire. One could hear all that ever was and all that will ever be in the voice, and see it in the soul of his eyes.
Yet, she did not fear him.
Finally, one cool spring evening, when she reached the water, Lisa dared to speak.
“Please, don’t try to stop me again,” she said with a quiet strength in her voice. “I just want to feel the water on my feet and cross to see the other side. I will do it one day, whether you like it or not, so it may as well be now.”
The young man, shocked at her sudden outburst, listened to the enchanting sound of the soft, subtle crystals that drifted off her lips. He stared at her in amazement. Never has anyone spoken to him; never has anyone ever reached the creek so many times. Never has he seen such determination to touch the purest of water in all he land. This, in his old and ancient eyes, made her worthy.
Lisa smiled at his expression and moved to touch her