Mistaken

Upon the shores of Laken, Augustine stood. He leaned upon the rock face catching his breath, his body not nearly as nimble as it once was. Age had made him brittle. And yet, within these waters he hoped to find the answers to his prayers. He was not the first nor would he be the last, to come to Laken’s shores, it was rumoured to be the final resting place of what had once been the fountain of youth.

With certain foreboding, Augustine dipped his right foot in the water followed closely by the other. The water was surprisingly lukewarm, lapping against his ankles. Augustine delved deeper, the water now reaching up to his thighs. With one final look at the shore, he submerged himself fully. He forced himself to remain under water for as long as he could, only reemerging when it was absolutely necessary, desperately gasping for air. He opened his eyes slowly, frightened of what he would see. Augustine raised his hands, surprised to see that his palms remained spotted and as wrinkled as ever. He turned his hands around, searching for rejuvenated skin. His eyes traveled up his arms, down his legs, all his limbs seemingly unchanged. And yet he felt different, he felt lighter somehow. Although stuck in the same aging body, he felt reborn.