Culvert is the name I have chosen.
Over the weeks of my recuperation, as my bruises faded and bones mostly healed, I considered alternatives – River, Brook, Flow… Shimmer had a certain ring. But Culvert. Culvert fits.
Three months ago, I stepped into the shallow waters as one thing – a good but conventional mind, a man who looked both ways at an intersection, had cut sugar from his diet, paid his taxes.
Hours later, I was dragged out… Changed. Now red lights are a challenge to my sharpened reactions. Dietary advice I leave for those who need it. And taxes… Well, let’s say, any tax collector only visits my office once.
My time in the water diverted my old self and something new was built over the top. The babbling brook that was me is still there, buried under new, hard layers.
Culvert is here to stay.
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #60. See here to join in.