Koi Pond

A prose poem originally written for my poetry college course. I am considering writing a full-length story continuation.

Dark ripples dance across the surface of the round pond.  Koi glide along just below the surface, orange or white with black speckles.  Rocks surrounded by algae sludge jut out from dead plants - weaving and tangled, new stalks sprouting from their carcasses.  One could easily sink a dark secret in this pond.  The sun shines down on a brick platform, moss growing up between gaps in the mortar.  A man lies on the grass in the distance, enjoying the nice weather and writing.  A woman in red passes a cluster of photographers snapping pictures of trees, and birds, and joggers like her.  A panicked woman chews out a girl in a wheelchair for worrying her.  A sculpture of a twisted horse made of driftwood overlooks the scene.  The woman in red stops on the brick platform to catch her breath, looking out over the murky water.  Koi nibble at the sludge and intertwined plants.  Red lily pads catch her eye, redder than her sweat suit.  The glass face of a watch reflects the sunlight.  The koi continue to nibble at the fingers…  A scream cuts through the air.  A sculpted army of headless bronze beings seem to approach the pond.  But without heads, they cannot see what the woman in red sees.  The man lying in the grass looks up from his writing, curious but comfortable.  The woman stops lecturing the girl in the wheelchair - she now has something else to worry about.  The photographers all flock to the brick platform, snapping pictures of a new subject.  But no one thinks to ask his name.