A Boat Trip

"You're such a misanthrope, you know," she said.

"But they truly are pigs," he said. "And yet here I am, in love with you," after a short pause, his eyes closed. Did she blush? He could clearly see her face, every golden fiber of her furrowed eyebrows, every smiling wrinkle.

Then, there was a push, a splash, and he felt that the boat became slightly lighter.

"You won't be able to swim long against the current. And I won't come to your rescue; these cold waters will wash you away right into the Atlantic Ocean."

"Bullocks!" something gurgled. He opened his eyes.

"If I were you, I would watch my mouth. Loose lips sink ships."

"Yes, watch your mouth! Our relation-ships drift apart. Adieu!"

"Hmm, we barely know each other."

He was now rowing with his hands, water escaping between his fingers—she had thrown the paddle overboard. But this was not the only thing she had done before abandoning the vessel. The boat was slowly but steadily quaffing water.

"What am I supposed to say to the boat owner?"

"I'll apologize for you," she was now cruising around the soon-to-harbor-fish boat in periodically widening and narrowing circles.

"Do you know that I can't swim? What you've done is an attempted murder!"

"And in several minutes, it won't be attempted anymore. Don't whine and enjoy the view while you still can."

Indeed, the view was lovely. The dusk has just swaddled the whole place; street lights readily filled it with a gentle glow. Ahead of him, magnificent Fairmont Château Laurier flaunted its châteauesque shapes. The trees on both sides of the canal were casting fluid shadows... The mirror of the still, as if frozen, water doubled the surroundings, creating a parallel world, almost identical to the one they were in, only upside-down and semitransparent. The world distorted with ripples where she passed, darn mermaid. He stopped rowing: all the efforts were to no avail, his hands like two holey sieves, his feet soaking wet. 'Now I will catch a cold,' he thought.

"Why are you doing this to me," he said.

"Basi aende nakupenda wewe," she purred.

"What?"

"Why are you not calling me by my name?"

Death is a young woman. Who could have imagined? Is this the end? His whole life was passing before his gaze. Stop! Please rewind this particular moment! Let's watch it again.

"You're such a misanthrope, you know," she said.

"But they truly are pigs," he said.—

No, no, enough! We've heard this story!

"But have you even introduced yourself properly?"

She approached the boat and started pushing it toward the middle of the canal. 'Shall I attack her and then strangle? Or shall we negotiate?' the cogs in his brain were desperately spinning.

"I prefer the latter option. And no, I can't read your mind. You just said it out loud."

"Well then. Let's play a game of chess. If I win, you let me be."

"Alternatively, I can give you a swimming lesson. If you learn—"

"f4."

"The little bird is chirping. But what if I win?"

"It's out of the question."

"You better do it fast then. Your vessel is half full."

After ten minutes of tense and suspenseful silence, she burst into alternating fits of giggles and gurgling-grunting noises.

"I won! You lost!"

"Please, have mercy on me, I beg of you!" a wide sly smile was decorating his face. "But you know, the water is no more than 6 feet deep here," after a short pause.

"Silly, did you really think I wanted to kill you? You still owe me 20 bucks for the—"

He started sneezing—three, four, five times in a row—splashes of water and his nasal secretions scaring off curious largemouth basses. The boat sank.

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This short piece was written for Mackenzie Davis' Ekphrastic Challenge.