Your One and only

Day by day One would come back to the river getting closer and closer to the water. The intrigue of stepping into the river was still there. One boot got wet, then the other one. The water reached bare knees, got higher and…One stopped, realizing that One was playing with fire, yet with water. It was time to go home. However the same thing happened next night. And the following night. It was happening only in the night so that no one could see One’s attempts not to get oneself drown.

One sunny morning the editor called and said that he didn’t like the piece. It was too basic. One got angry. ‘The guy knows nothing.’, One thought. The critics was non-stop, the message of the article wasn’t clear, there was no connection between the sentences. It was a complete mess.

– You disappointed me. – said the editor. – Your ideas of drowning sounded as if you wanted to commit the suicide. It was so depressing, I couldn’t really read that. You must write about something positive or inspiring. Not about something making you feel like dying.

– I like my piece. If you don’t get it, it’s because of your narrow-minded perspective of the world. There are so many things I want to write about. I want to think outside of the box. Wish you the same. – One said rather indignantly and threw a bottle of rum against the wall. This bottle was not as precious as one of whisky.

The conversation was over. It was night, so One got dressed and went to the river. The indignation was an impulse to do what One did – jumping into the water. As One was there, no sound could be heard. No critics could get him. One was out of reach. The silence was perfect, it cleared the mind. But there was not enough oxygen, so One had to fish out, take a deep breath and fish in. One fished for good, having left the letter on the bench discovered next morning.