TAMARA L. COPELAND lives in Boston, MA. She loves to write fiction as well as poetry and has been previously published in Beginnings Magazine.

                                                                the lake


A man in a large, blue baseball cap emerged from behind a cluster of trees.  The hat was too big for him because it wasn't his.  He walked to the edge of the lake and sunk his bare feet into the murky water. The cold paralyzed him for a moment.  He stood, watching the full moon glow on the surface like a searchlight.  Except for the glitter of the moon, the lake resembled a thick, vat of oil.  A gust of wind blew, cold and hard.  It carried the hat out towards the middle of the lake.  He watched it bob up and down along the waves.  His mind convinced him that he was floating beneath the surface directly under it.  He closed his eyes.  Frigid air filled his lungs.  He could almost feel the cold water bite into his skin as he let his mind bury him at the bottom of the lake.

His eyes opened to the sound of the trees.  They surrounded the lake in a tight, circular prison.  The leaves whispered faint accusations.  Covering his ears, he walked deeper into the lake.  The icy water slapped against his legs.  He saw the hat vanish beyond the black, merciless waves.  The spotlight had disappeared behind a mass of thick, gray clouds.  The rain began to fall.  The sharp rocks beneath his feet cut into his calloused skin.  He wanted the huge, black pit of water to swallow him whole.   He did not want to remember what he had done.  Warm tears trickled down his cheeks and chin.  The rain pierced the lake with the sound of a million nails hitting the surface.  The heavy drops pinched his skin and the cool water mingled with his tears.  A smile covered his face and a deep throaty laugh escaped his lips. The wind blew harder and the lake struck his chest with each wave.  The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and bathed him in sharp, white light where he stood in the lake.  With his red stained fists stretched out to the moon and his head tilted all the way back, he let out a bloodcurdling scream.

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© 2002 Tamara L. Copeland