The Boat

I am sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake.  I have no oars, but I have something in my pocket.  It is sunset.  The black silhouettes of trees pop-out against the sky which is a kaleidoscopic mish-mash of oranges, reds, and purples.  With every passing minute, the harsh reds slowly fade away to be replaced by deep purples and blues.  I am waiting for the sun to disappear, and you do not know why.

I hold all of the power in the world.  No, not in my pocket, but in my hands that type this story.  You know not why I am sitting here in this boat.  You don’t know how I got here.  You don’t know why I am waiting for the night to fall, and you don’t know what will happen when it does.  You don’t even know what I have hidden away in my pocket, but I have a secret, I don’t know either.  I created this scenario, but I have yet to create the steps that brought me to the center of this lake.  I seem as powerless as you to destiny then, don’t I?  Well, that’s where you’re wrong.

I am this world’s sculptor.  I took clay made of ideas and shaped it into an insanely, insignificantly minute moment that is in itself, so much.  In a life, this moment could be one of the most important moments, but in the course of the universe, it would change nothing.  This contrast of importance split by reality and perception really fascinates me.  Not only is this story that to the characters but to myself.  I have come to a realization in writing this that has somewhat altered my idea of life’s finity.  I know that this does not affect the universe at large in any way, but that’s part of the realization.

I stand up in the boat.  I feel almost as if there are eyes on me.  I turn all around, but find only that I am completely alone.  I reach into my pocket.  The sky is now completely dark.  My hand touches something, and my fingers wrap slowly around it.  I pull it out fiercely and hurl it into the water where it immediately sinks.  The glass-top lake is shattered with fierce ripples that gradually smooth out.  I sit back down in the boat, staring at the sky, and wait until I am a part of it.  I’m still waiting.

Author: Jackson Palmer

Jackson Palmer is a student studying literature at the Mississippi School of the Arts. He hopes to use the education he obtains there to write novels, short stories, poetry, and scripts for movies, television, and theater productions. Additionally, he would like to write within a number of genres such as comedy, drama, horror, etc. Some of his favorite writers and influences include Billy Joel, John Steinbeck, and Dan Harmon. He hopes to explore concepts and systems of thought such as existentialism, nihilism, and fulfillment within his writing. He would like to thank you visiting his blog and hopefully reading his work. View all posts by Jackson Palmer