The Fountain - By Benj96
Aren't you coming in? The water is warm. My father waded in, scrubbing his face, ridding himself of wrinkles, aches and pains. Splashing ever more playfully with my mother who floated meditatively, her hair re-establishing it's thick vigour, bronzing from dull grey back to a deep auburn glow.
I amble to the edge, lowering myself slowly not to throw out my back, wobbling against my walking stick, hand on hip, stiff, inflexible, laboured breathing.
We had come here many times. Every 30 years or so since I can remember. The waters were the same as before.
"You go on ahead, I'll sit a moment" I call reassuringly. In truth I am tired. So very tired. I wondered about the prospect of not bathing. I had seen many things now. Perhaps too many things. Maybe my time was up? A heavy choice to make.
"Don't stay in too long now!" I urge. But Dad was already quarter his size. "It tastes like juice! No, milk!" He exclaims before he is no longer able to swim or talk. "Oh dear" I sigh and step into the bath. This is not what I want. But they need to be raised once again.
I amble to the edge, lowering myself slowly not to throw out my back, wobbling against my walking stick, hand on hip, stiff, inflexible, laboured breathing.
We had come here many times. Every 30 years or so since I can remember. The waters were the same as before.
"You go on ahead, I'll sit a moment" I call reassuringly. In truth I am tired. So very tired. I wondered about the prospect of not bathing. I had seen many things now. Perhaps too many things. Maybe my time was up? A heavy choice to make.
"Don't stay in too long now!" I urge. But Dad was already quarter his size. "It tastes like juice! No, milk!" He exclaims before he is no longer able to swim or talk. "Oh dear" I sigh and step into the bath. This is not what I want. But they need to be raised once again.
Comments (7)
Sits as more of an intro to a story as opposed to a full-fledged story in my mind, alas such is the fate of 200 words. Though it seems to have been effective, many tales abound, anything greater than 200 words becomes daunting/inconvenient to.. anyone with a life, basically.
Though perhaps in the lateness of the hour, among other things, an infinitely complex web of scenarios elude me. The child becoming the parent or leader/teacher, a common religious theme. A metaphor for alcoholism and/or the consequences of poor self control, perhaps? The cosmic cycle of life and death, sometimes put simply "when you're born, you can only crawl on the floor in search of a bottle, and for some, the same fate awaits thee as/until thy depart"... something greater even? Perhaps this is the beauty of simplicity itself, the message conveys no limitations or intent except those of the reader, and as such, bears the essence of what wise men have sought for generations, sometimes called "God".
I like this section, but I don't know why. I don't understand the meaning of the narrator. Nonetheless, thumbs up for being mysterious as to its meaning. I guess what I'm trying to say is, surely this is not about the bath per se.
The narrator had visited the fountain many times. He is tired, and considered not bathing this time, and so dying a natural death.
I'm hoping it's a figure of speech. Sorry, this story stumped me. Nonetheless, I like the narrative.
It is a figure of speech haha dont worry. It's a story about reflection on a long life, and freedom verses responsibility. As well as the changing role of parent and child in the independence-dependency dynamic. I used the fountain of youth as a stand in, as well as to spice it up a little with mythology.
You're right, it's not strictly about the bath, but rather a metaphor.
A very poetic reflection. I like it. Simplicity is indeed beautiful. I don't like to impose restrictions on interpretation for the readers of a microfiction. If anything they're enlightening and bring forth new perspectives. Always welcome I say.