Torrent’s Call

"What does it feel like to be responsible for people's lives?" He had asked, just a child then.

"Like a waterfall."

"Like a waterfall?" He got a solemn head nod in reply.

"What does a waterfall feel like?" His innocence was light in his voice, a child's wonder.

"Relentless," his grandfather replied gruffly, looking off into space. The thunderous roar of cascading water envelops him in deafening thunder.

The child imagines a waterfall.

Imagines the sun shining down on the water; the warmth of the heat rays and the cool of the water. The cold droplets as they land on his soft skin in the warm sun. The way the trees on either side of the river sway, their green leaves letting little pockets of light through. He hears the crashing of the water, going and going and going, splashes of white exploding in noisy bursts, endlessly. Then lazily rushing away in quiet solitude from its thunderous arrival. He can see an individual drop fall away from all the others. He reaches out and catches it. Feels its cool explosion in his palm.

"But you can stand at the edge, and catch the little droplets," the child responds, opening his eyes and looking at his grandfather hopefully. The memory of the cool water droplet still fresh. His grandfather's weathered face looks down at him with a sad smile.

"No, son," the booming all around him drowns out his words even to his own ears, "You wade in the water until you're waist deep," he feels his boots sink into the soft mud beneath the rippling-water's surface. The water begins soaking his toes, his feet, up his ankles and to his knees. His legs grow heavy and his boots fill with sand and mud. He ducks as he steps into the waterfall, the falling water growing in intensity. Everything drips with the slippery liquid. His chest is cold and his hair is matted from the falling downpour, "-then you get beneath the torrent. And you bear it all on your shoulders-" and it starts to sting. It starts to burn. It rubs your skin raw and splashes over your head. Trickles of water flow down your forehead into your eyes, into your mouth. It tries to drown you. It deafens you and leaves you blind. You get tired and hungry and cold. But it comes and comes and comes and-

The boy catches another droplet, imagining his grandfather beneath the waterfall. The boy, in his imagination, stands at the edge of the lake, just close enough to catch the little droplets, watching the ocean envelop his papa.

"I think I'd just stand by the edge, and catch the little droplets." His grandfather smiles and reaches down from his recliner and places his large hand on his grandson's shoulder. He wears the uniform of The King's Personal Guard. The insignia hovers a fraction of an inch over the cloth from mini-projectors denoting his rank and expertise. He commands an entire combat flotilla of the finest ships in The King's Solar Fleet. He got there from successfully leading hundreds of thousands of soldiers to their deaths; missions completed. He can still hear the booming.

"Good, son. You do that," he lets his voice rumble, a rumble that matches the powerful waterfall pouring over his shoulders and soaking his very bones, "Someone needs to catch the little droplets." The boy beams at him. This time he catches two instead of one and imagines showing them to his grandfather. He did his part. His grandfather, up to his waist and beneath the waves, spittling water, smiles.

He was just a child then. Just a boy. Now, his time is coming. Soon, he will wade.