My boredom means you have to face another story.
So there ya go.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 18:37, 7 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Spring Fever
She lay on the beach, gazing up at the trees. Numerous nests were there, full of fledglings waiting for their parents to come feed them. She could hear their squeaking young voices even all the way down here.

She was feeling sleepy now, and visions of the day floated up through her mind. She remembered…

The sand was warm in the sunlight that day, wonderfully so. The past few days had been so warm that she had brought out her shorts and tee shirts and been working in her yard in the late afternoons. The early warm weather had brought out a terrible case of spring fever in everyone.

And rightly so. The flowers had begun to bloom, the grass was the brilliant green of childhood, the breezes were soft and warm against faces, making everyone raise their eyes to the deep blue sky with exultant smiles. Birds sang among the new foliage, rustling as they built nests.

The evenings had also been unusually warm lately. The people were all out for evening walks, or sitting on porches and restaurant decks as they admired the moonlight and the stars. Gentle music seemed to be everywhere, mixed with laughter and the scents of spring.

This morning was especially beautiful. As she got up and looked out her open window the sun was gilding everything, and the breezes caressed her with the promise of warmth. She went downstairs and made a pot of coffee and put on an album of Scott Joplin ragtime, and danced all around the downstairs as the coffee brewed. She threw open the windows and let in the wonderful sweet spring air which mingled with the scents of the coffee and the toast. Everything was perfect.

The shower washed away the previous day and she stepped out of the bathroom feeling invigorated. She flung the towel over the bar and stood nude in the bedroom with the steam rising from her skin, cooling her deliciously.

She danced to “The Maple Leaf Rag” as she dressed, and caught sight of herself in the mirror as she spun by. Her hair was still slightly damp, but her fresh-scrubbed face glowed with radiant health and joy. She laughed at herself and whirled away to find a suitable spring outfit.

She had to resist the urge to skip as she walked down the sidewalk. All week long the warm sunlight had been tormenting her through the office windows, just as it had back when she was twelve and sitting in the classroom waiting for school to let out for the day. But now here it was a Saturday and she was free to do as she wished. She hummed as she strode past the shops, all with their doors wide and people milling through them. She browsed a few shops, looking over the new spring clothes and the gardening supplies and the home decorations meant for patios, then finally stepped into the bakery.

When she emerged she had a paper bag full of things that gave off a medley of mouth-watering scents, of fresh bread and croissants and tabouli. She smiled down at her lunch, then at the couple walking the other way. They returned her smile, warmed by the sweet joy in her face.

Back at the house she picked up a few more things, then threw an old blanket into the back of the car. Today was prime for a picnic, she decided.

She called her boyfriend, but he was at work trying to meet a deadline. Her best friend was working in her yard, trying to get the garden ready. Another friend was already going somewhere for the day. A third was meeting her own boyfriend to go out for the day. Finally after the sixth number she gave up. Hell with it, she thought. I can go have a picnic on my own.

Her car thrummed along the highway as she drove with all the windows down. The radio was belting out one of her favorite songs from a couple of years ago and she sang along with the woman about her baby coming back, the wind whipping her hair into a cloud around her. She got to her exit and drove down the winding road along the river to her favorite park and shut off the car. The creak of the cooling car was almost drowned out by the murmur of the water.

She spread out her blanket in a sunny spot near the water and dug into her paper bag. The tabouli and croissants were better than she had imagined, and the tiny bottle of Chardonnay went with it perfectly. Finally she was full and satisfied, and she tossed the bag of empty wrappers into the back seat of the car.

The water gleamed invitingly in the sun, its song hypnotically seductive as she stood on the rocks. It had gotten very warm out here, almost summertime temperatures. She sat down on her rock and gazed into the smoothly moving water as it flowed past her. An occasional fish zipped by, darting through water as clear as the air. There were little water weeds growing along here, waving in the current like grass in the wind. It was just too beautiful and peaceful here to move.

The water flowed past her rock, through some boulders and into a large pool. She had come out here many times over the years to swim, and remembered splashing around with her sister and brother. Her father had come in as well, and had taught her to swim right over by that rock… This pool was full of wonderful memories of childhood.

She walked across the rocks, the rapids farther out in the river making soothing sounds as the water churned over the half submerged boulders. Balancing carefully she picked her way across to the spot where she always dove in, a place where the water streamed between two boulders and dumped into a deep hole. The sun burned down on her, and she thought about how inviting the water looked. She stood on the rocks looking down into the pool, wishing she had brought her bathing suit. When she stepped down onto the sand in her bare feet it was almost too warm for comfort.

She looked around her. This part of the park was fairly secluded, well away from the crowds, which was why she loved it here. For a fact no one seemed to be around, and she could hear no sound other than the river and the birds. If she were to strip down to nothing now, who would know? She smiled to herself. Well, a bikini is no more cover than her underwear, after all. Not a big deal even if she were seen. She had been out in public in less than that while on the beaches, and hadn’t minded at all. She could deal with wet underwear for the ride home.

Her clothes went into a small pile between two rocks, weighted down with a stone the size of her two fists. From a distance the matching blue bra and panties would pass for a bathing suit, she decided. Besides, no one was anywhere near. She stood on the rock for a moment, savoring the warm sunlight toasting her bare skin and the gentle breeze ruffling her hair and caressing her with its warmth, then took a deep breath and dove in.

The cold slammed her so hard that it felt like a huge electric shock. Her skin was instantly numb as she clawed her way to the surface, the air in her lungs aching to come out in a scream.

She gasped as her head broke water, but the only sound that emerged was a sickly cry like a sea bird. The chill was now an ache in her bones, and her muscles felt as weak as if she were in a nightmare. She struggled to keep her head afloat but the current caught her and she was swept under the surface again. Struggling feebly she went over the rocks at the side of the pool and down the little rapids.

Her skin was scraped over the rough stones as she tumbled, the cold amplifying the pain and the gritty feel of the sandstone, and it seemed to her as though giants were pummeling her with stones from every direction. Her head cracked against one, stunning her, and she got a mouthful of water. She broke the surface again gagging.

It seemed as though she had been in this seething cauldron of cold for hours, but a part of her mind knew that it had only been a couple of minutes. Dimly she knew that she had to get to shore in less than a minute or she would die in here, her body slammed endlessly against the submerged boulders as it tumbled along the river bottom.

Somehow she forced her leaden limbs to move, straining against their enormous weight to get them to obey her. She managed to catch a rock to stop her tumbling, and looked dazedly around her. There was a tree that had fallen into the water just a little ways away, perhaps thirty feet downstream from her. She let go of the rock and struggled toward it across the relentless current.

Twigs clawed at her as she crashed into the branches, and she grabbed at them with what was left of her strength. Painfully she heaved herself along the length of it until her feet touched the bottom, then crawled out of the freezing river and up onto the rocky shore. She got clear of the water before her strength gave out and she collapsed, rolling onto her back to face the sky.

Somewhere in the back of her cold numbed mind a part of her chuckled dryly. Brilliant move. A nice warm sunny day, unseasonably so, and I have to go for a dip in the river. Completely forgetting about the fact that it’s only April, and the lakes upstream have only been melted for a week if that. Dad told me over and over again not to go into the water in the spring. So what do I do? I eat a nice big lunch, strip down to about the same amount of cloth that’s in an average handkerchief and dive right in. Way to go, sunshine. The voice faded out in an obscene giggle and was gone.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, but now the sun was going down. The chill had turned bitter and she had shaken violently for a while, but that had eventually passed. Everything was turning comfortable and she was actually starting to feel warm again as she lay there watching the birds against the sunset. What kind were they? Some sort of water bird. Not big enough for herons. Ibis, maybe? Egret? She dimly remembered sitting with her father on the river bank with binoculars, listening to him identify the kinds of birds as they flew by. She could almost hear his voice.

And now as she watched the birds fly over the nests and float down onto the branches she felt that she could join them. Her body felt so light and warm, and if she just closed her eyes she could feel herself drifting with them… faintly, as if from a far distance, she heard concerned voices. The birds all flew off and she tried to cry out for them to wait for her, but she couldn’t speak. She watched with tears rolling down her face as they took to the air, flapping madly and then settling into glides as they waited for the intruders to leave. The voices of people had driven them off, and she wanted them to go so the birds would return and she could fly with them. But now she felt hands lifting her from her comfortable shoreline and carry her toward more voices, taking her back to a world of people and faces, taking her from the long deep rest she wanted, taking her away from her dreams of soaring through the sunset sky…
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 18:39, Reply)

Wow
I didn't see that coming! Excellent read :)
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Thu 21 Aug 2008, 18:44, Reply)

Hmmmm. That's an old story.
I wrote it back in 2003, apparently. One of my earliest efforts...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 18:46, Reply)

Another cracker
I thought she'd had it - brown bread for sure.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 19:00, Reply)

Thank you.
Originally she died from hypothermia on the river bank, but it so distressed a friend of mine that I changed it so she heard people approaching.

It's still a little grim, though...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 19:07, Reply)

You're welcome
seriously, you're talented (IMHO). I'd love to be able to write like that. My talents lie more on the verbal side, shall we say. I can tell a good story but can't write them down in quite the right way.....

I blame my English teacher. Should have taught me something useful instead of all that bloody Shakespeare!

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more"

Fat lot of good knowing that has done me.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 19:18, Reply)

The funny thing
is that once I get going, I can generally grind out a 2000-3000 word story in a couple of hours. I go back and review and revise for an hour or so, and then it flies.

You've been reading the results of that in here.

Now I just need to find someplace to sell stories to!
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 19:28, Reply)