At the Water’s Edge



He knew she was out there, somewhere, probably hidden under all those lily pads–obscured by the dark, murky water. The water rippled in the wind, making the lily pads bob up and down in a hypnotic dance. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find her–wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Seeing her again wouldn’t lead anywhere good, not after so many years. He knew that, but still he went there every day after work and sat at the water’s edge. Not seeing her again seemed worse somehow. He needed to know she existed–needed to know he wasn’t crazy.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read stories from the rest of the Fictioneers.


29 responses to “At the Water’s Edge

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