Still Water Runs Deep Novels & Stories

Everything blurred together in a haze of anxiety and exhaustion. I made my way to the kitchen, my movements slow and mechanical. The cool tile floor beneath my feet grounded me slightly, giving me something tangible to hold onto as I poured myself a glass of water. The glass felt heavy in my hand, and I gripped it tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I took a sip, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat, but it did little to ease the storm raging inside me.

Slowly, deliberately, he drove himself deep inside her. Selah’s eyes fluttered shut as a high, broken cry echoed through the quiet study. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back as he began a slow, heavy, and devastatingly deep rhythm. Every thrust was a silent vow, a physical manifestation of the promise resting on her left hand. They moved together in a seamless, perfect harmony, completely consumed by the fire they had built, entirely untethered from the rest of the world.

I defended. Gabriel folded his arms before speaking again. "Intentions don't matter if the results is still the same," he explained. I went silent again. I walked toward the bar at the far corner of the office and poured myself a drink. The whiskey burned down my throat, but it did nothing to quiet the restlessness inside me. My eyes drifted toward the bouquet of roses sitting on the table nearby. She rejected them just like everything else I sent her. The flowers still looked fresh and untouched. I stared at them for a long moment before speaking gently.

22-23 September, 2050 Sometimes she felt she had been running all her life. It hadn't always been like that, but the persistence of a refugee life felt never-ending sometimes. Today's run felt good, however. In her pocket, she held fifty dollars that she had promised Caleb she'd take back one day as they were hers. After a long run away from the theater, she had at last found a bus stop but decided on a little culinary detour. While that digression - a little Polish joint hidden among the shabby buildings in view of the inundated beach - was much needed, it had delayed her.

His silence is not uncertainty. It’s calculation. And somewhere deep beneath the settlement, the land settles into stillness — not dormant, not dead. Waiting to see who will come back without being asked.

The steady, running kind — the kind that does not build and break but simply flows, the way water flows when the channel is open and there is a great deal of it that has been waiting for the opening. "

I asked with concern. “Probably not. I don’t do it often, but it is nice. It’s a lot like this. Just you and the water and the moon. It really makes you feel at peace. The stress just melts away. I hate the noise of our world sometimes. I used to imagine running away and living like a hermit far away from everything. It always seems like there is noise somewhere. I think our world would be a happier place and we’d have a lot less angry people if there was more quiet.”

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs, Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assurèd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep, he had followed us From the land of mist and snow.

Because I am removing something invisible. The performance. The act. The role. I wash my hands longer than necessary. Long enough to feel clean again. I stare at the water running over my skin. Steady. Controlled. Just like me. “They always talk too much,” I whisper. The words come out before I can stop them. But they are true. Men always talk too much. They underestimate silence. They mistake quiet for weakness. They mistake stillness for ignorance. They mistake me. And that is their mistake.

Harmony I was trying to prevent myself from shaking while I was staring at my laptop. I don’t know what to feel about a post on Friendbook related to me. While I was trying to calm down, I continued to stare at a photo posted with a mocking caption. It was me, standing on a stage while in the midst of holding back my tears. The caption says, "Wow, look at your dumb rich girl stuttering through a debate. Is that all you can do? "