Aqueous Transmission

I listened to this song about four times in a row for class, then wrote the following paragraphs. The purpose of the assignment was to pick a song from your past and use it as a catalyst for a piece of writing that captures the essence of the song. It's not the greatest thing I've ever done but please enjoy reading it while listening to the song in the background.

I’m floating down the river. Twigs beneath the flowing current rise as the ripples separate at their ends. My fingers grace the passing water and spirals emit from my fingertips. I glide so easily and yet without direction or control. My vessel pulls left like a grocery cart with a bum wheel. The leaves overhead are bright green and fat. Only small slithers of sun are able to burst through. Mossy rocks form a line up ahead and I slow my raft with my two hands.

I leave my raft and ascend a small hill with extra long blades of grass. Why strain from the course of my trip? Why interrupt what comes naturally? Soft, clear droplets bounce on my forehead from the branches above. They hit the ground in complete succession, and not rhythm, but, white noise soundtracks the landscape. The sky is drab and colorless. A cool wind sweeps across the meadow in which I stand. “Well, well, well, so I can die easy.”

The dark hairs on my forearms rigidly stand. up Tiny bumps run across my shoulders and up my neck. I squint as the flowing air pierces my pupils. I continue to move forward but am now trudging through green and brown mush. The wet mud drags down the bottoms of my jeans. I pull a hood over my head and my peripheral vision is lost. I start to panic. The rain is now heavier, harder, faster. I see a mountain-sized stream of electricity streak across the sky. The clouds are gone and the sky has turned a deep purple-y black.

I feel alone and so far from home. I haven’t seen anyone for the past six hours and I’m starting to realize that I need them to be happy. I unfold the crumpled piece of loose leaf from my pocket. The light blue ink-drawn map is smeared and illegible. Every tree is beginning to look the same. I start searching for thick forest, for proper shelter. The T.V. show back home makes it look so easy. It’s not. There aren’t roof-shaped branches and pre-woven bamboo tarps scattered throughout the brush. I’m on my own.