Skipping

The wet slap of the small, smooth stone spreads radiating ripples in a listing line across the face of the cool,dark body at my feet. The soft warm breeze brushes my hair across my shoulder and a quiet convulsion sends a shockwave of goosebumps down my arm. The sand is warm and comforting, the tall grass whispers quietly amongst itself as birds lazily call to each other. I lay back on the bank,drowsy. I let the heat seep into me and I think about that lonely stone sinking into the depths of the lake it had only rested by before. I shudder again, if I wasn't so wet the breeze wouldn't feel cold to me. Desperate to feel the sun warm me from the inside out I prop myself up on my elbows and look out over the lake. Maybe if I cleaned up some I'd feel better. The shaking had stopped when I caught my breath three or four miles back. Maybe if I wasn't so sticky and uncomfortable....

I sit up and pull off my shirt. The soaked fabric clings to my skin as I peel it away. I hold the heavy wad of marinated fibers in my hands for a moment until the pattering of the liquid from between my fingers pricks my ears. The dripping blood leaves small round spots in the sand and long streaking tracks down my hands and arms. The tingling in my fingers and toes slowly builds until I can almost hear the static crackling under my skin. Red is not my color. I push myself up to stand. I strip off the rest of my clothes and wade into the deep water with them until I can't reach the bottom. I dive under and savor the pressing silence surrounding me. Climbing back on to the bank I squeeze the water from my hair as a gentle buzz hums nearby. It feels good to be clean. I take a deep breath of the warm summer evening and my glazed eyes gloss over the tiny cottony fluff floating by in the breeze. If only that buzzing would stop. It seemed to be getting louder, and it wavered in an unsettl"-ING STUPID, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK-HEY! HEY!! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING DEAD-EYES?!" CLK. CLK. CLK. It's hard to focus on the fingers snapping a quarter of an inch away from my face. The poorly lit living room is dingy and all together too close. It seemed suffocating, as was the hot breath battering my face. My wide eyes fix on the peeling linoleum in the kitchen as the screaming continues inches away from my temple. I try to think back to the river but a thick pointed finger repeatedly jabs into my sternum. Each thump burns in my chest and my eyes flicker, fighting to maintain the active avoidance. Over the back fence, through the field, scramble across the dried up Levi on th- "HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO, COME IN SPACE CADET-" the glint of kitchen knives on the counter draw my eye. Maybe I'll go to the lake this afternoon.