The water goes on forever. It goes nowhere, and everywhere. It is clearer than the purest crystal, and a quagmire of claimed hopes. It never moves unless you stir it, no ripples taint its perfect sheen; nothing lives beneath its surface.
It is the epitome of both grace and vice, imagine, to live both in hell and paradise.
It is neither deep nor shallow, a child could drown but it merely laps at an adult's knees, taunting you that something so weak, something that caves before your every step, can keep you imprisoned.
I sit alone, unsure whether I am shadow or flesh, beneath this single tree, its leaves long since fallen and bark made barren by the sweat poison that surrounds me. This tree is my solace, the sole feature in this wasteland of water that once lived and dreams of living, just as I do. It is my home and my sanity.
Doors to the north, doors to the south. Or is it doors to the east, doors to the west? There is no direction in this dead hell, just the water. It makes no difference. The doors stayed barred, the carved stone constructions that encase them are unbreakable. There is no sympathy from these doors, only cruel malice taking pleasure at my fate. Two rocks, directly opposite each other like the doors, lie on either side of the island, seemingly in the distance but in reality mere steps away.
I have scaled them both in a vain attempt to a see and end to the water, but since then I have grown wiser, and learned that there is no end.
How did I get here? How and why would any living thing be lured here in the first place? I do not know. Perhaps I was tricked here, like the seeds sown in this spit of land daring to jut through the water that became this dead tree.
Why am I here? That I have been trying to find out since I emerged from the water.
Who am I? Still, I do not know. My whole body is black tinged with white, even my sword and shield are devoid of the colour and markers I remember they once had. I can see my body, I can sift a handful of the gritty, harsh dirt I sit on and feel it flow through my fingers, I can feel the jagged bark of the dead tree piercing into my back, I can even feel the water seep into my boots and cool my feet.
But when I look into the water, I see nothing. No matter how hard I stare, wishing, hoping that I might catch a glimpse of my face, there is nothing.
So I do not who I am, and the only clue I have is that I'm nothing.
I feel my face, I try to fee my face, but it is if it isn't there. That can't be possible. The water's playing with my mind, trying to break my weathered down spirit. It will not succeed in its tormented games; I have lasted in my prison for years and will do so until I walk free.
There has to be a reason for this, somewhere there has to answers to my simple questions. Those answers cannot be hard to find, all I must do, all I can do, is sit and wait. The truth I seek will come to me.
Joy, love, compassion and colour these and all wonderful emotions faded when I rose up from the water, leaving me with sorrow, despair, anger and hatred. As I watch the water in my painful state I sense it longing, reaching, striving to take away the last thing I hold dear. Hope, that I will prevail.
The bars, the bars on the door are lifting. Is this the end? Has freedom and life come to save me at last? Or this another foul jest by the water, once again trying to lure me back into its retched purity.
The door is open. I don't know whether to run to the stone building as I had many times before or wait to see what lies beyond it. Perhaps the water is life for me, and the building is the real darkness that will engulf me entirely.
No, this impossible. The water is deceiving me; I can't be seeing what is before my eyes. Another man, an exact copy of me except, in colour. This man must be the waters visage, he wields a sword and exactly as I do, and looks like he is going to use them. The water must have finally given up. Its plaything was too resilient so its going to kill it and start anew. I have not waited this long just to die. Now I know why I carry a weapon, so I might slay the one took my life and regain my humanity.
The door closes and the bars fall back into place. There is no escape for either of us now. This embodiment of the water will fall into the unholy clear that created it and I will finally have my answers, I will finally be whole again.
This man will die.