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The blue mist hung like vines over the purple water. And the ebony docks that creaked a little when you treaded upon them seemed to embrace the misty surface. The shore, gray and pebble filled seemed to roar at the water, "You don't scare me! Hah, what with your misty waters and your smooth waves. You don't scare me!"
The ragged beach, the creaky docks, the blue mist, and the purple water. I sat, my feet skimming the surface of the mystical substance. No one knows where purple water comes from. It just sprung up in the middle of the forest, as a farmer was walking down his beaten path, laden with seeds, grasses, hoes and shovels, no doubt materials for a feast. He looked to his right to see the purple water with a blue fog stretching over it, catlike, almost. He ran back to the village, and they all gasped and gazed upon this spectacle. Soon, there was some lad foolish enough to try drinking it. He became I'll and died a slow death, his skin turning purple and beads of blue sweat rolling down his head.
They buried him next to the lake, might as well return what was stolen. There now sits a silver tree with leaves of liquid gold. No one dares to touch it for fear something might happen. The silver tree, dances along the edge of the water. A happy accident is all it takes to find yourself wandering down to the waters of the purpleading lake. I stick my toes in, enjoying the presence of a seemingly forgiving spirit. When the sun sets, sending light boucing everywhere, I know I have to go home. I get up, and stumble a bit, for I am still not used to this darn leg.
I hobble back home. My mother waits for me. "Lylah, you know that the purple lake is dangerous, and with your leg..."
"Mother, the purple water is so beautiful. I just can't keep away from it."
This is not the true reason I love the lake. The real reason would land me in Dr. Piper's office. My younger brother, Mouse, sits on the floor, putting a puzzLe together. He is mostly mute, and will sometimes talk, but he does not enjoy it. It is painful, he says. I believe him by the way his toes curl when he mutters, "Yes.". But One of the only times he talks is to say my name. Lylah." Could never sound better. It is indescribably blissful.
At night, Mouse will crawl into bed with me and I'll tell him stories. Stories of other worlds, distant and far. Of brave knights and heroes. Stories I was told when I was younger. Mouse listens, loving every word. It's all I can give to him, in return for his little sketches he draws of me.
At night, I must take my leg off. I must polish it, grease the gears, cogs, pipes, and pistons that help me walk. Specially designed by Dashner, an old man who tinkers with everything. He makes the most beautiful metal flowers for me to fasten to my leg. And I feel somewhat human again. Having a beautiful piece of my own expression to help me walk. A funny feeling is ensured, but quickly becomes calming.
Ghetto, a mermaid who no one knows about but I, loves to study my leg. She lives in the purple lake. She is gorgeous. She has sparkly freckles on her face, a button nose tinted maroon. Beautiful wavy hair that she braids shells and moon lilies into, making it appear as though she has a tiny galaxy in her hair(which is silky soft and black). Her eyes are a silvery mix of blue, green, hazel, and pearl white. It is as if she has a sun twinkling in her eyes. Her skin is smooth and a little scaly here and there, patches of holographic blues and blacks, clashing against her shimmering pale skin. Her tail, what a sight! It was embroidered with greens and reals and maroons and shimmering aquamarine. Strands of pearls drifted from her, finishing this dreamlike ensemble. She was beautiful. I never hesitated to tell her.
In return, she would tell me she wished she had purple hair like mine. It was odd, rare, really. Another mystery no one dares to solve. She admires the metal flowers scattered on my leg. From my hip to my stub of a knee, is what leg I have. The prosthesis attaches and acts like a suction cup, hurting, but not quite. And for stability there is a sort of harness that I buckle my hips into to keep my leg on. It has been falling off without warning of late.
Ghetto hovers above the water, smiling. I wish I could swim. She wishes to walk. "Let us trade places, like the prince and the pauper." She laughs a watery laugh, and giggles. Life could be okay if I have her to talk to. Life could be wonderful, if I could swim with her.