Based on the writing prompt “Set your story on (or in) a winding river” from Reedsy.com
Beatrice stared through the tree’s overhanging branches, smoggy sunlight peeking through its red and yellow leaves. The air was filled with the sound of running water, along with the cracking of wood from the nearby fire. Even so, she pulled her wool blanket close and rubbed her hands together. Despite it being noon, the frigid air filled her tired bones and flushed her cheeks. She tried to fight it back, but a series of harsh coughs burst from her lips. Afterwards, she massaged her throat.
Stupid skin, she thought irritably. She had lost too much weight, too quickly, leaving loose skin hanging from her throat.
Beatrice reached down and took up a handful of pale, smooth rocks. They covered the riverbank. She juggled them between her hands, picked the ones with the best shape and weight, and stood up. She took a few steps towards the water and sent one skipping.
“One, two, three, four,” she counted aloud. Yet the fog rolling in made it mildly difficult to keep track of the rock’s trajectory. It seemed to be blowing in from upstream. Even with the sun out, the campfire’s light was the only reason why she could see as well as she was. She glanced around at her makeshift campsite and felt a complete fool. She tossed most of the rocks away except for one.
Denial, she thought bitterly. All it was.
She flung the rock away.
Skip, skip, skip, skip-
Thunk!
The sound made Beatrice jump.
“H-Hello?” she called out, her heart beginning to race. She narrowed her eyes and spotting a blurry shadow riding the river towards her. “Are you…? I was told-”
Her voice was drowned out by the abrupt strum of a guitar. The strum then seamlessly transitioned into a calm if melancholy ballad. As the music grew louder, the object finally broke through the fog and came into view. Along with its occupant.
The man lay back in the wooden boat, black guitar held across his chest. He wore a wide brimmed hat over a weathered face. Smile lines framed a pair of bright hazel eyes. Despite the cold, the man wore a simple black flannel shirt over faded jeans and flipflops. As he strummed the guitar, the boat was simply pulled along by the river. Beatrice didn’t spot an oar or any supplies. It wasn’t until the boat was passing by her that the man looked up from his instrument, nodded, and said, “Ma’am.”
“H-Hello,” Beatrice replied.
The cowboy stared at her blankly, as if expecting more. Finally he stopped playing and gestured with the guitar to the other end of the boat. “Well?” he said. “You getting in or what?”
“Oh.” Beatrice looked around at the campsite. “Please, just give me some time-”
“You’re out of it,” the cowboy growled. The boat was being pulled away and he didn’t look in a hurry to stop it. “In or out. Now or never.”
“Oh, no, wait!” Beatrice shrugged off the blanket and hurried into the water. Cold shot up her legs as she pulled herself up and over into the boat. Teeth chattering, she tried to straighten herself. By the time she managed it and looked around, her campsite was long gone, consumed by the surrounding fog.
The cowboy resumed playing. Beatrice offered him her hand. “Hello, I’m-”
“Don’t matter who you are,” he cut her off again. “Only who you’ve been and who you’re gonna be.”
Annoyed, Beatrice took her hand back. “I’m actually not sure how this works.” She massaged at her legs to try and warm them up a little. “I actually gave up hope there for a second.”
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise,” said the cowboy. “The Black blooms in the darkest hour.” He glanced up from his playing. “You at your wit’s end, ma’am.”
Beatrice laughed harshly at that. “Yes. I am. I…I…” She looked away. “I’m all out of fight. I’m tired, sir. Tired and scared. Please. I don’t want to die. Not like this.”
The cowboy regarded her. As he did so, the music became more comforting than suffocating. “Name’s Ronnie,” he said. “Now look over yonder, Ms. Baker.”
Frowning, Beatrice shifted around and gazed downstream. Movement caught her eye to her right. A shadow was moving in time with the boat, maneuvering through the fog. A human shadow. As she watched, the fog warped and changed around the shadow, creating fuzzy buildings and streets and objects for the shadow woman to interact with. The mist refined itself, becoming a graveyard. The shadow woman limped her way to the top of a hill and placed flowers on a graveyard. A dark-tinted dog followed close behind, though limping slightly. It wasn’t too long after that before poor Willie succumbed to the tumors in his stomach.
“Willie,” Beatrice murmured. “William Lenore.”
Even after all this time…
Ronnie cleared his throat. Beatrice tore her eyes away and looked at him. He nodded towards the opposite side of the river. Sure enough, the fog had changed on that side, too. It had become the exterior of a prestigious all-girls academy. Beatrice had taught there for over forty years. Her shadow-self exited the front doors, box in hand. She glanced back once, perhaps expecting someone, maybe one of her students, to rush outside and tell her goodbye. When no one did, she sighed and kept on walking…
Ronnie’s strumming suddenly picked up in intensity, becoming almost violent. Beatrice spun in her seat and yelped in shock as tiny, white bullets filled the air. She ducked down low. The graveyard had been replaced by a grassy terrain. Bullets filled the air as her shadow-self dragged herself across the ground, dark blood streaming from her leg. She dragged her way over to a body. She hugged him, shook him, screamed out-
“William,” Beatrice whispered, her brain filling in ever heart-wrenching sob and scream and nightmare she’d ever had following his death.
Used to the cycle, Beatrice couldn’t look away fast enough. Yet the sight that met her next was somehow infinitely worse.
It also made her smile, tears pouring down her cheeks.
She and William sat around a campfire, the local children dancing around them. William suddenly pulled her to her feet and led her away from the fire. He hugged her,. Kissed her, and then got down on one knee.
More first followed after that.
The first time they made love.
Their first kiss.
Their first hello.
And then William went away, lost in a future that shadow-Beatrice had yet to live, unaware of the tragedy ahead of her. Instead of bullets, caps filled the air. Wearing a graduation gown, Beatrice stood happy and proud. She would have been prouder if she had come out first instead of second in her class, but it was what is was.
Two points, Beatrice thought, nonetheless. Two stupid points.
Ronnie suddenly stopped playing and the boat came to an abrupt halt.
Beatrice looked to him and then downstream. They had reached the river’s end. The water was flowing inward, into a human-shaped tear in time and space. It was mildly feminine, but it was too tall and slender to be Beatrice, even in her prime.
“I remember now,” she whispered in awe. “I remember that I don’t remember how I actually…how I actually got up here. The climb. The packing. I…I just was. Just like…”
“A dream,” Ronnie finished.
“Am I?”
“No. This is Time’s work.”
“Time?”
“Time is a fickle, evil bitch,” Ronnie said tiredly. “I should know.” He held up his hand, showing off a black ring. “I married her. She’ll give a rapist a full lifecycle or snuff an infant after a handful of minutes just because. Nothing is owed and everything is easily taken away.” He shrugged. “So I steal some when she isn’t looking and give it away.”
Beatrice knit her brow in confusion.
“How do you mean?”
In answer, Ronnie reached up into his hat and then handed her a photo. A sonogram. “In four minutes, a baby girl will be born. Her name is Katie Almos.” He nodded past Beatrice, at the shadow. “And you can hitch a ride. Sure. You won’t exist. Not consciously. But you’ll pass on attributes to her. Maybe how you laugh. Your favorite foods. Your work ethic. You won’t be her, but she’ll be a little bit of you.” He looked Beatrice dead in the eye. “You were a good person, Beatrice Baker. With your help, Katie Almos is destined to become a great person.”
Beatrice digested his words as she stared down at the sonogram.
“…Will I…will she remember William?” she asked. “Even a little?”
“No,” Ronnie answered. “But she will know that love is possible. Along with how fragile it can be.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
Remembered hers and William’s first kiss.
And stood up. She turned to face Katie’s shadow.
“Forty years of teaching,” she said. “I can teach one more.” She began to step off the boat, only to catch herself and ask Ronnie, “Don’t I owe you a coin or two…?”
Ronnie laughed. “This one’s on the house,” he said, waving her off. “Recommendation from a mutual acquaintance.” Before Beatrice could press him for more information, he called over, “Forty-four seconds before she crowns, ma’am.”
“R-Right.”
Feeling more alive than she had in years, Beatrice practically jumped off the boat. Ronnie watched the woman wade through the water and then fall into the shadow. The shadow’s edges closed around her, taking her into the Black.
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