Notes: Written for Slash the Drabble on livejournal. (prompt #177: past challenges revisited, specifically #13: Lost)
This is unbetaed and written at 5 in the morning, feel free to critique. B- )
River wants to stop streaming out of her bed, always changing, always herself, never new, never same. People like trees on the shore standing and swirling in their not-broken dance, limbs following rhythms that rivers can't grasp. They writhe about her as she rushes between them, never stopping, never quiet: can't be a Brook, her babbles are too angry and sad, too common does she spill over her banks.
But sometimes, rivers can be tamed, and she knows this, prays to deities and powers she does not believe in, all for this relief. Longs for the pretty girl with the rolling hips and flowing hair to dam her up by plunging roots so plentiful, so deep that the waters will be held at bay until she floods over the roots, free in her restraint. She knows that she would be able to rest if only she could become a lake, not a River.
Simple Simon, with simplistic answers, doses her and makes the waters calm, but not still. It is enough for sleep. But even as River recedes from the land, further into herself, into her bed, she surges so fast she thinks herself a Lake. The trees plunge past.