Th Pond and it's Dweller by Justin Thomas Squires


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SUMMARY: This is a pretty cool short story. I wrote it to test my writing skills.

The Pond and It's Dweller

Crickets chirped in the echoes of the night. The pond was ominous, surrounded by a dark woods, secluding it from the rest of the world. Around the pond was green grass and tall cat tales that seemed elegant in ways of only a kings posture. On the bog a toad laughed at the night for being glum. Fire fly's floating between reality and dreams. Somehow the sky cast a purple glow around the area in which the pond had occupied. As if it were a place of the heavens and not of man. The pond sat, still and warm, from the summer night, a ripple here or there.
The pond had often had a visitor at night. A man, or more like a dweller. He would come the pond each warm summer night to visit it as if it were a friend of sorts. He would simply dwell the area. Sometimes sitting, other times standing, walking, and oddly as it may appear to a sane man's eye, talking.
He would talk to the pond as if it were a brethren in this sad world. He would discuss hypothetical philosophies of his own doing, and also his problems in the world. He would tell tales to the pond of fire and brimstone, of fancy ball rooms, or even of mice searching for crumbs. He would tell the pond his feelings of the night, as crazed as they would be.
One night he came to the pond tempered. The dweller was drunk with anger of demons and plagued monkeys of the deep. " That whore!" he yelled as he stumbled. " She had to go around and give herself to another man?" then he looked at the pond. "What is it you would have me do!" he asked in desperation. "Oh what the hell do ye know anyway? Your a stupid pond. Piss on ya." said the belligerent man as he spat angrily at the pond.
A harsh breeze blew in the summer night, pushing the man astray. This leading to his faulty step against a log near the pond's edge. He toppled clumsily into the pond, entering it's dark unforgiving depths with an angry " Splash!". He jerked and kicked, and he gurgled for air. The pond not being generous enough to let him receive any. Soon after a quiet moment, he had ceased. No movement, no gurgling, and no dweller.
Crickets chirped in the echoes of the night. The pond was ominous, surrounded by a dark woods, secluding it from the rest of the world. Around the pond was green grass and tall cat tales that seemed elegant in ways of only a kings posture. On the bog a toad laughed at the night for being glum. Fire fly's floating between reality and dreams. Somehow the sky cast a purple glow around the area in which the pond had occupied. As if it were a place of the heavens and not of man. The pond sat, still and warm, from the summer night, a ripple here or there...


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