I run along the bank of the river, the occasional slippery pebble causing me to trip. The quiet sounds of the river like a chattering companion. I race towards the rocks, but another victor has already claimed the prize. He sits on the stones, staring contently at the water. The river boy. His skin always dripping wet, never dried by the afternoon sun. His purplish lips whispering something to the water. The river boy never changed his clothes. I feel myself start to back away; I never come any closer. A soft breeze blows, carrying the voice of the boy.

"It hurts. Drowning hurts."