A Stroll Down KillerCrok River

     James found himself alone on that same old park bench, like a salmon swimming to its sanctuary of origin.  Its secluded location amid the scattered treeline, resting on the brink of his familial backyard stream, was perfectly shaded and perfectly alone at this time of day.  The babbling brook softly splashed its cool, clear water over the countless rocks and boulders, continuing its mission to wear them down decade over decade.  James stared at those condemned minerals as he fidgeted with the open envelope sitting on his lap.  

     The petite ember of a memory was pestering him, distracting him from the contents of the letter crinkled between his fingers.  The ember erupted.  KillerCrok River popped into his head, carried by the sudden flame.  This surge was trailed by flashes of a young boy and his brother, spending hours fishing, camping under a bench, chasing and fleeing imaginary, immense crocodiles.  James stared into the brook for a moment and saw the boy’s face look up at him.  Clear, vibrant eyes were paired with a toothy smile plastered between sunburnt cheeks, radiating a warmth James could hardly recall.  The ripples of the stream soon dissolved that boy, replacing him with the gaunt, hollow face of a grown man.  

     Shuddering with an involuntary sigh, expelling a desperation from within his soul, James raised the letter in his hands before realizing, despite his best efforts, a thin trickle of tears spilling over.  His chest felt hollow, all air seeming to dissipate, refusing to be confined.  Damp eyes re-examined the contents of the envelope:

     We regret to inform you that your brother, Matthew Clemit, has passed away…  

     That line obscured any and all others below it, overwhelming them and their meaningless context.  He was gone, that was all that mattered, eroded to nothingness.  Droplets fell softly, darkening and soaking the paper.  Inhaling deeply, James turned his gaze back to the creek, its petite biosphere of algae and tadpoles swishing lazily over its earthy basin, while picturesque memories floated like bubbles across the glistening surface.  The ‘naming ceremony’ floated by at last, that fateful day when he and Matthew christened the creek, at the time, a river to them, KillerCrok River.  The sound of wooden swords clashing, the scent of freshly mowed spring grass, and the feeling of celestial levity emerged all at once, before popping, splashing, and spilling more moisture down James’ frowning features.  

     All that remained was the burbling water and the rocks standing like weary, waterlogged sentinels.  One particular rock gleamed in the setting sunlight, its peak just breaking the surface of the flowing liquid.  It stared at James, like a drowning man barely able to keep his head out of water, as he cried out for help.  

     Locking metaphysical eyes, the two sat stoic and silent, digesting one another’s presence.  James could almost observe the micro particles stripped from the mineral’s outer crust with each passing rush of miniature waves.  He could almost make out a large fraction of it being marauded and tossed down the creek.  Only to wipe his stinging eyes and realize no such fracture had occurred; the rock remained whole.  No matter the decades to come, no matter how small it would shrink, it would remain whole.  

     Sitting upright, James collected himself, sighed heavily, and stretched before rising off the familiar bench.  He gave a second glance at the petite boulder.  Its resolute posture remained, its watch not yet over.       Delicately folding the letter and placing it back into his jacket pocket, James watched a solitary bubble glide gracefully down this mighty creek.  It disappeared into the shining waters ahead, never popping.  With a final sigh, James resumed his stroll down KillerCrok River.