A Short Story
I have always felt connected to the water. Something about the endless movement, kinetic energy flowing through a source of life. A body so alive yet not, feeding off of itself to spread infectious growth over the world. The ocean as the heart, veiny streams of water in every direction, dark, cold, and unknown. I live in a small town on the bank of one of these veins, particularly dark and cold. We feed off of our river and the river feeds off of us. We fish to provide our people with food and our economy with currency, the river takes our people in return. It is a necessary evil, everyone in the village is aware.
Spring is the season of childbearing, no one in the village, born in the same year, is older or younger than each other by more than a few days. At the age of five, the weakest is sacrificed to our river. Sickly children are easy to pick off, the parents usually offer them up instead of the elders selecting them, just to make the process easier.
My family was blessed with three children, now they have me. I was never sick, I was never weak, so I was never offered. My time of selection is over, I am valuable to our community now. I can join the women in repairing clothing and foraging for food. If my brothers were not selected, they would be learning to hunt and fish with the men. I remember their day, my parents remember, the village remembers. We choose to not speak of it. The river took what was necessary.
Our next selection day is coming soon, the family has been notified, their child will be given to the river. The family is not invited. The child will be placed in a basket, handwoven by the women, and filled with rocks, as the river demands it. This is how we have done it for years, it is tradition. The river never gives anything back, not bodies, not bones, not flesh or blood, the river consumes the soul and delivers it to the other world. This is what the great book tells us, the book written by our ancestors.
I can join the women, but I will not. The job is menial. Important, but busy work, tedious time filling nonsense. I have been chosen for another job, our eldest woman has picked me. She says that my lack of emotion means that corruptness will not be an option, I will not wish to rescue them. I have been chosen to prepare the children for the river.
I will feed them the night before, a hardy dinner of fish and root vegetables, the best and largest of our small village. I will comb their hair and prick their wrists to drain some of their blood. The vial will be given to the family after the ritual, some of their child’s blood to remember that they feed the life blood of the river for the next year. Anything caught from the river for the next year will be thanks to them, it is an honor. I will then lay them down to sleep, and wake them in the morning. I place the rocks in the bottom of the basket and the child will lay down on top of them. The largest rock will be placed over the heart, the river will consume that last. Smaller pebbles cover the rest of their body. An intricately woven basket cover conceals the child from their fate, as I place them in the river. I have to make sure the basket goes down, for if it doesn’t, the river won’t understand.
This happened once, the child was ill prepared by an elder and lived, their basket floating downstream. The river did not understand, it flooded and flowed and destroyed the village, few survived. We did not provide our end of the deal, so the river took what we cared about the most. I will never let this happen. We require the river for our village to survive, and this is up to me. I was specially chosen for this job, I was told I was the only one who could follow through the task. I am the river feeder, and I will always be connected to the water.
