Weeping willows
by Antheros
I loved screaming when I was a child, six years old or so. I loved the echo
that came back a second and a half later, caused by the very tall cliff over
the lake. The adults eventually got tired of my screaming, and would tell
me to shut up.
The lake was as calm today as it was then, but there were changes. New houses,
the old pier had rotted and now all that remained were two or three poles
coming out of the water, the bushes and trees that looked much taller and
the things that looked much shorter. The cliff looked the same, and I wanted
to scream once again, to hear if the echo was still there, but the years
and the people I came with intimidated me. It was better to help with the
luggage.
``Weeping willows,'' Kimberly said, pointing at the big, distant trees
by the lake. ``I always loved them.''
``They are pretty.''
``A tree, weeping? There are few things in nature more poetic.'' I knew
she would write a poem about them later and read to me in bed. The willows
fell over the lake, the long branches touching its surface.
``Come, let me show you the rest of the place.''
The night was falling and we all had beers in our hands, talking and laughing.
Kimberly was happy. Everybody talked until the after midnight, when we started
to get up and leave to our rooms, tired from the trip.
Kimberly hugged me from behind while I changed my clothes. ``I'm tired,''
I said. ``I'll do everything, just lie down.'' I lay, and she kissed
me, going down on my neck, breasts, navel. ``Just close your eyes.''
I did, intermixing my drowsiness, drunkenness and the pleasant feeling of
her tongue in my pussy.
The morning was clear and bright, but Kimberly was not by my side. She was
up, always an early riser. I checked the clock, it was past ten.
Almost everybody was up, eating cereals or talking. It was so different from
when I was a kid, when the kids would wake up before everybody else, quietly,
to be able to explore the lake before anyone could tell us what we could
and couldn't do.
Kimberly smiled at me. ``Good morning, sleeping beauty.''
By afternoon she asked me about the willow trees again. I remembered the
boat; maybe it was still there, on the small cabin by the lake where we stored
everything. I took her there and we found it, the wood pale and gray from
the water and the years bygone.
Bill and Tim helped us to put it in the water. It was big enough for three
or four people, but not this time. ``Row, Kim!''
We arrived by the willow trees quite tired. We glided under them, the dots
of light filtered by the branches. Kimberly touched them, lightly, and moved
towards me.
``We'll fall over.''
``No.'' She was by my side.
``They'll see us.''
``Good. Another thing to turn us on.''
Somehow the boat didn't flip. If it did, I wouldn't have noticed anyway.
The sun was setting, and I went alone to the shore. The tiny waves of the
lake made low splashing sounds. There was no wind, few birds. It was all
quiet, and I could do it again.
``Never mind them,'' I repeated to myself.
``Echo!'' I screamed, and the echo came back, with a ton of other shouts
that the cliff and the lake kept all these years.
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