Luke goes down to the river. There are many others there, splashing in the water, swimming, paddling about in boats. They call to him, but he smiles and makes no answer. Luke dips his toes in but the water is cold, and so he sits instead upon the bank.
The sun rises and warms him and he drowsily watches the others play. They no longer call to him. He's missed his window. Ah well. He'll go in later, he promises himself. No rush. He has a nap instead and lets the waters pass him by.
When he wakes the sun is low and the wind is cool. The others have gone, and only Luke and the endlessly flowing waters remain. Flowing, flowing, taking away the morning and the people, never to return.
He stands, stretches, feeling the stiffness set in his bones. He plunges in as darkness sets, strikes for the river bottom, and there finds the largest stone he can.
He wraps both arms around it and waits, watching the line of bubbles float from his mouth to the surface.
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