The Story of George Walker
Based on character from the novel "Dead Dreamer: Freshman Year"
The sound of the river drowned out everything around me. When I opened my eyes, everything was still blurry. The last thing I remembered was my father’s drunken rage. He was going to teach me how to hunt the next morning, but he had too much ale. Whenever the ale takes over him, the world did not exist anymore. He wanted his lover back, but she had died about ten years ago. She died giving birth to me, and ever since he has resented me.
I rolled over and started to sit up. The world around me was blurred, but I recognized the forest. This was where my father would take me to go hunting and fishing when he was not drinking. When the ale was not around, he was a pleasant man who loved to take his son on adventures. That is why I could not hate him. He was a good man, and I had taken the one thing he held most dear to him away.
I looked at my reflection in the river. I had mud smeared all over my face and clothes. Taking a deep breath, I submerged my face in the water and tried to wipe the mud off. All of a sudden, a feeling of panic overwhelmed me. I quickly ripped my head out of the water and had to take deep breaths to calm down. For some reason, the feeling of water surrounding me made me panic, but I couldn’t remember why. In spite of that fear, I gently cupped water in my hand and wiped me face. My vision was starting to return after I removed the mud from my eyes, “Father? Where are you?”
I looked across the river, but saw nothing but trees. Turning around, I hoped to recognize the forest around me, “Father?” The forest was the same forest we usually went to for fishing. My father wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Standing up was a challenge. The world seemed to spin, as if I could see the earth rotating. Using the skills my father had taught me, I made my way back to the town. Things seemed normal with the townsfolk. The blacksmith, Mark, came up to me, “George…is that really you?” He grabbed my shoulders with his callused hands, before giving me a hug.
When he finally let me go, I asked, “What do you mean? Father and I were on a camping trip…but I can’t find him. Do you know where my Father may be?”
Mark just stared at me for a few seconds before answering, “Son, your father came back two days ago, claiming you had died when you fell into the river. He has not left your home since.”
“But I did not die. I’ll go and find father. He has to know that I am alright.” I said.
Mark looked as if he wanted to say more, but he just nodded and let me go. The way he was looking at me, made me feel uncomfortable. Quickly, I walked towards our home. The people of the town watched me as I continued toward the house. It seemed like they all thought I was dead. What happened at the river two days ago?
I opened the door slowly, “Father?” The house was silent, “Father! Are you here?” Walking from room to room, there was no one. Mark had said my father had not left the house since returning. The last room left was my father’s room. Slowly I opened the door. I was not prepared for what happened next. My father was hanging from the ceiling, with a bed sheet tied around his neck.
Screaming, I ran into the living area. I tripped as I ran, slamming into the floor. As soon as I hit the floor, I got sick everywhere. The shock of seeing my father like that, made my memory flood back in a flash. I did not fall into the river. When father was in another drunken rage, he tried to drown me. I remember struggling against his grip, then blacking out. The next memory was fuzzy. Someone had revived me, but I could only remember a silhouette of a woman with dark hair walking away from me. After that, the darkness took over me again, and then I finally woke up.
While the memories were flooding back, Mark ran into the house and cradled me, “George, go into the kitchen and clean yourself up. Let me look around.”
Mark walked towards my father’s hanging body, while I went into the kitchen to clean myself up. After a few minutes, Mark entered the kitchen and embraced me again, “I am so sorry George. Do not fret; you can stay with my wife and I. We will take care of this.”
Even though Mark was trying to comfort me, the image of my father’s hanging body would never leave me. Nothing was ever going to be the same.
***
Copyright 2012 by Sarah Lampkin
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