The Boy in the Water

The lake, he had known it since birth. Still, tranquil, and soothing. He sits by the peaceful water, eyes closed, listening. He can hear the sound of the wind, hear the Earth breathing. Birds quietly serenading him from their bark clad perches. The beautiful sound of quiet pounding in his ears, it is pure peace.

His eyes open and stare into the clear calm water. He sees a boy with ebony hair, sapphire eyes and ivory skin, a beautiful boy. However, he can see the pain that dwells in his eyes, the bruises that decorate his neck and arms. He can see a boy who is hiding. He hides his sadness behind award winning smiles and well rehearsed laughs.

He closes his eyes again, unable to look at the boy any longer. He sits on the silent grass carpeted bank and let the silence engulf him.

His mother’s voice, high pitchers and scratchy, calling for him to return home cuts through the silence. Logan opens his eyes, looking at the boy one last time before rushing to his feet. He runs over the grassy hill headed for home. At home there is silence also, but not the silence from before, it is never the same. After he is yelled at by his mother for a good half hour for something he usually didn’t do, there is silence. She doesn’t speak to him again, just sits in her room, avoiding him. No one talks, silence thunders through the halls. However, this silence isn’t soothing, it’s suffocating. It’s like the calm before the storm and that storm is called Dad.

When his dad returns from work there is no silence. He complains about his day at the office. He yells about the drive home, the other idiot drivers. Then he fusses about dinner, the chicken is to dry or the mash potatoes are scorched. He screams when he drinks his last beer, the last of no less than ten. He laughs his head off as he backs a defenseless Logan into a corner.

Logan always tries to hide; his closet, the garage, under his bed but his ever drunk and enraged father always finds him. Logan’s back taps his bedroom wall as he runs out of room to run from the intoxicated parent. He tries to beg, to save himself. ‘Please don’t’, comes only minutes before a large fist connects with his temple.

He is punched, knuckles leaving their signature on his fragile flesh, grabbed, fingers leaving imprint on his pale arms and neck. Kicked, boot clad feet leaving black and blue kisses on his stomach and chest. He cries trying to run but there is no escape. He is thrown against walls and down on the floor. When his dad feels he had let off enough steam and he feels better about life he leaves the blooded boy on his bedroom floor.


Logan doesn’t dare move until he hears the front door slam and his dad’s car zooming out of the drive. He slowly gets up from the stained floor and hobbles out of his room. His mother is sitting in the kitchen, she always is there afterwards. She always hears and sees the beatings but never helps him. She never even looks like she cares about what just happened.

Logan grabbed his bottle of antidepressants from the counter where they stayed; he needs them to sleep and to keep him sane. He took one last look at his mother before walking out the door. He ran as fast as he could, up the hill then down the other side. He ran to the lake.

He fell to his knee on the bank, pills chattering in his pocket. He closed his eyes, trying to listen to the silence but he couldn’t hear it. His eyes snapped open and met the boy in the waters gaze. Emotions surged through him and he realized, he hated the boy in the water. He hated the fact that the boy lied and hide the truth from everyone. He hated the boy for letting his body be covered in bruises and scars. Oh, how he hated the boy.

He lounged forward to the edge of the lake; he slammed his fists into the boy, water splashing with each downward thrust. The boy just wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he hit, he just stayed in the water. Logan let loose sixteen years of pant up anger and pain out of the boy.

He finally stopped, drenched in water and stared at the boy. Then he realized, the boy was him, he hated himself. He hated himself for being a victim. For letting his dad use him as a punching bag. He hated Logan.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills. He popped the lid off and stared at the small white tablets. He poured about ten of them into his soaked palm. He put them into his mouth and swallowed, easily an overdose.

He stared at the lake, the lake that had seen him grow, it had seen him cry, laugh, and the bruises. The lake would be the only one to know the truth. He could feel the power of the medicine start taking affect.

He fell down on the bank, grass couching his head. He felt sleep start to fill him. He closed his eyes and smiled. He could hear the silence. He fell asleep for the last time, his life forever written in the small ripples of liquid glass.





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