THE MONSTER
1.
The Monster sat on the towpath and watched the water ripple. He was a handsome and smartly dressed young man but he was a Monster all the same. He heard laughter; families were sharing a picnic and playing games but they were a way off and didn't seem to notice the Monster. He continued to watch the water. He watched a film of diesel as it spun shapes and colours in the sunlight. He watched hover flies with spindly legs zigzagging in some pointless search and he watched as the small, exhausted child slid quietly beneath the surface of the water. Her little body descended and settled on the silt just four feet below.
She'd run by so closely her bright yellow dress had brushed the Monster's leg. The shock of cold water rendered her mute, her eyes snapped to their widest and locked onto the Monster's just an arm's length away on the safety of the towpath. For a whole minute her eyes implored and begged him before her strength failed. Her face turned to the sky and her limbs fell away.
It wasn't the Monster's fault. The little girl had become separated from her brothers and cousins, squealing as she chased the ducks that had plopped into the canal and swum away. But Emma was in full headlong pursuit and couldn't stop herself. The Monster had watched it all but had done nothing and if he had done nothing then surely, he had done nothing wrong. No, it really wasn't the Monster's fault.
Noises. Laughter had given way to shouts and fear, “Emma!, Emma!”. The water instantly became the focus of concern and two men quickly laid eyes on the Monster. They ran, and even from thirty feet away the Monster once again felt the bombardment of unspoken communication. “What have you done?! Where is she? My beautiful girl, where is she!”
They were almost on him when clouds killed the sun's reflections and allowed the frantic eyes of a father and his son to catch a primrose yellow patch in the water.
2.
It had been three weeks since Adam had pulled Emma from the canal. It would be about the same time again before he faced trial. He'd dived into the water and reached his sister in moments. He pulled his legs beneath him and, clutching Emma to his chest, thrust hard against the canal bottom. It was yielding, but not enough to prevent Adam breaking the surface in seconds. Emma's father scooped the limp body of his daughter from his son's arms and placed her on the dusty towpath.
Adam's mother was screaming, his aunt and uncle, his cousins and younger brother were all shouting and distraught. He heard his Dad panicking and calling for help but as Adam clambered out of the canal, slewing water and sucking in air, it all receded. Pushing past his father, the young man clamped down on his fears, focused his memory and pinched his little sister's nose. What student ever paid attention in a first aid lesson? Not Adam, not fully, but he remembered enough. It had been barely two minutes since Emma had drawn her last breath, she drew another and emptied her little lungs of the dirty water that had filled them. It hurt. She coughed, choked and spluttered. She was sick and then she wept, a beautiful sound.
The Monster watched it all. He watched as the dread and terror fell away and a family shone in joy and relief. Everyone fussed over Emma, and sobbed tears of uncontrollable happiness. Adam, somewhat overcome by the situation, had retreated a few feet away from the group. They'd called him a hero. The crowd that had gathered slapped his back and praised him for saving his kid sister's life. But for these few minutes Adam felt nothing but the release of fear - and anger.
He was no hero he was just lucky, it could all have ended so differently and he would have carried his failure to save Emma for the rest of his life. He could've lost his annoying little sister who he'd always been so mean to. His anger was boiling and it flushed his face red. Why?! How did it come so close to tragedy? Had no one seen the danger? Could nobody have prevented it or guided Emma to safety?
With stinging tears in his eyes and a heart full of adolescent rage Adam turned to face the Monster, and his fists flew.
3.
Stan was an ordinary man, all he’d ever tried to do was provide for his family and protect them from harm. What father would do anything else? But these were not ordinary times for Stan.
Emma was fully recovered, her bad dreams had been getting more infrequent since the event a few weeks ago. Her little brother, eager to be with his friends again, was excited to be going back to school now the holidays were over. If the young ones were unaware of the drama enveloping their big brother, Stan and his wife could only be thankful. Adam was in trouble.
The Monster had barely survived Adam's furious attack. He lay in a coma, his broken jaws held together with screws. Witnesses claimed the Monster had offered no resistance to the young man's violent assault. Adam's fists carried the full force of his fourteen stone physique, repeatedly smashing into the Monster's once handsome face.
His father and uncle had swiftly pulled Adam from the body of the Monster. An ambulance crew, just arrived at the scene in response to a report of a drowning child, quickly appraised the situation. Emma and the Monster were rushed to the Royal Infirmary in the same ambulance. Checks were made on Emma but the consultant was happy with her condition and discharged her after an overnight stay for observation, the Monster's situation was much more grave.
The charge against Adam was grievous bodily harm, the case against him was a simple one. Without provocation or warrant Adam had assaulted and seriously injured an innocent bystander.
The End.
This is my clumsy attempt at metaphor. I've been putting this short story together since the tragic death of Alexia Walenkaki in July this year. Alexia was killed by a falling tree branch while playing in a North London park. When so many were encouraging prayers for Alexia I rather angrily spat out a terse condemnation of God and his refusal to act.
I'll admit, within a few short sentences I was rude, contrary and bitter. Of course, no child ever died because of an uncaring deity and that's not really where my anger was directed . . .
