The Jetty

A lonely figure sat at the end of the little stone jetty that poked
like a rude tongue out into the lake. It was late evening, there was no
wind and the oily water lapped languidly against the time-rounded
stones like a mother wrapping her baby against the cold.

The sun was just dipping behind the mountain, leaving the despair in
the heart of the observer. The people didn't care, the lake carried on
as if nothing was wrong and even now the sun was turning it's back, the
giver of all life abandoned the man who sat in despair, gazing out at
the multitude of colours that the sun, in it's parting rays, lent to
the serene landscape.

He felt like the smallest speck of humanity, totally insignificant,
like the smallest drop in the well of life.

His companions were in the hotel, some were watching television others
were in the bar chatting and drinking, whilst some, he suspected, were
up in their room doing those things that are best left behind closed
doors. He had drifted away from the noisy crowd. He had not felt part
of it anyway. The glare noise and wit of it all had proved too much and
the lake had beckoned. He looked down into the depths and saw the moon,
full and bright, looking back at him in invitation.

He wondered what would happen if he simply failed to go back. How long
it would take before one of the party put down his or her glass and
remarked that they had not seen him for a while. He knew he was feeling
sorry for himself and that he should stop being silly and resolved to
go back and join them.

He stood and turned to go, then as if speaking out loud, the lake
called to him and he stopped. The lake offered him a silken cloak to
wear over his entire body. It also offered peace and security in it's
dark depths. The green hidden places of the deep would never reject him
as he had been rejected by the people in his life.

He stood and looked down at the water, then up at the mountains, aloof
and disdainful. The water was the winner. He sat and, after carefully
removing his shoes he slipped noiselessly into the chilly depths. Down
and down he sank, giving him self up to the embrace of the lake. The
light changed from green to black and the silky smoothness of the water
changed to a biting cold.

Soon he was past caring, the water entered his lungs and washed the
breath from his body. He was still in himself but the currents in the
lake took him round the headland, as if to show off the newest
acquisition in the aquatic community.

Several days later a body was washed up on the shoreline two miles
away. The eyes were gone, lost to the fish, the skin was bleached white
and wrinkled and the open mouth was home to a colony of worms. If only
he knew, even the lake in which he had put all his trust had finally
rejected him.