Nature's Fire

A short story that I wrote in high school for a creative writing class.

I plunge my paddle into the water, a stroke every two seconds, a steady pulse, a heartbeat.  The green trees, blue rocks and reflective water blend to create a pastel tableau.  The songs of birds call out to me from the beckoning woods.  I breathe in the fresh air and a pine scent fills my nostrils.  'Nature is beautiful,' I think to myself, 'but weak.'  I admit, I had come here not to admire, but to conquer.  My repertoire only had room for thrills; motor biking, bungee jumping, rock climbing, street fights.

I had gone to Niagara Falls a month ago, out of curiosity.  The people crowded around the rocks separating the land and the aquatic giant.  It was always flooded with people and I strained to watch the falls.  As I watched the massive half-circle, thousands of coils of water shot down, all at the same moment, maintaining a giant cloud of mist, hovering above the enormous aqua machine.

Out of the blue, I saw a man in a kayak, strategically rowing toward the falls.  The rapids pulled him along, like horses pulled prisoners in the Middle Ages; gagged, bound and bloody.  But, despite the power of the rapids, this was not suicide.  He was challenging nature.

Passing battered rocks and logs; he was inches away from the human shredder.  I knew what the falls could do; hardly anyone could survive a trip down and every suicide attempt was successful.  The strain and fear on the kayaker's face was clear; he wasn't ready.  But it was too late; no time was wasted on the kayak teetering over the edge and it slid into the water's jaws, never seen again.  His screams were smothered by the mammoth waterfall.  I could hear gasps around me.  Women fainted.  Men cursed, frightened.  I couldn't understand.  What makes waterfalls so dangerous?  Before this, I had done things that would make any man's jaw touch his toes.  

So here I am, on a different waterfall, rowing right into danger, trying to prove the world wrong…  

Stroke.

Stroke. 

Stroke.

As my paddle penetrates the water again and again, the river roughens.  Rocks are goaded by the thrashing water and in the distance there is no more river, only space, framed by trees.  I paddle faster and faster, determined.  

My heart pounds faster and faster against my chest as I approach.  Why am I so afraid?

My life has never been a rut.  I always take risks.  But waterfalls are different.  I get second thoughts.  Can I still turn back?  I make a quick decision and try to turn my canoe around.  

No such luck.  The canoe knows its path: straight down.  I can hear splashing below me.  Water falling to its doom.  And then I get there. 

My heart stops pounding and clings to my mouth.  

“Oh God,” I breathe.  

The waterfall turns my canoe so that it points toward the rocks at the bottom and everything changes.  My legs leave the shelter of the canoe and I fall, the skin on my face stretching backwards, excess sparks of water flying from the canoe. My body can't stand the feeling of no footing, no ground, and I am terrified.  I can't even gather the courage to scream.  When my body smacks the water I feel strange; suddenly stable.  A wave of relief calms me from the water until I realize that I can't swim.  

On instinct, my hands frantically do whatever they can to keep me above the surface.  As I bob up and down, fragments of the world flash around me.  I'm not quite sure whether I'm alive or dead.  Thrashing and panicking, my body is pushed down the river like a rag doll.  

Eventually I reach the shore and gingerly crawl onto the wet rocks, coughing up grainy gulps of freshwater.  My canoe is in pieces, useless.  My soaking clothes are plastered to my body, terrified by the ordeal.  

I turn around to look at what I have just survived.  An emerald city of mossy rocks and jade green trees frame the river.  The trees cast themselves onto the water, a velvet soup of blues, greens and turquoises.  Everything is so peaceful, until you look directly in the middle.  

The waterfall is impossible to ignore.  A wall of cobalt blue rock cups a sharp white entity, outlined by blue.  Hit by the sun, the water falls, a never ending cycle of blue fire.  Light is thrown off of the waterfall onto the river like shards of glass.  Even the clammy brainless fish dart away from the invisible pieces of power.  The otherworldly blade reflects itself a hilt in the river, piercing the water.  In my eyes I see a terrifying alien sword, all water and all-powerful.   

I can't stand the sounds anymore.  Water, endlessly fighting with water, mother water smothering its children, willing to destroy anything in her way.  

I should be happy; I can still feel the adrenaline, the wonderful feeling of my heart kicking the other organs to a pulp, but something seems so wrong.  A trail at my right tunnels away from the river, so I take it.  Ignoring my bits of canoe, I run through the emerald green woods, defeated.  

I won't be chasing waterfalls for a long time.

Author's Note

A short story that I wrote in high school for a creative writing class.

Our teacher gave everyone in the class a photo and everyone wrote a short story based on it. The photo I chose for this piece is the photo that inspired the story.