The Muir

The Muir There was a small lake near the farm I lived at for some years in my childhood. The lake was on peat land, and it water was fenny and dark. The lake also had slow swimming trout, that tasted of mud when eaten and where left to swim placidly around near the surface of the lake tarn. My friend and I built a small boat with sail we tried to cross the mere, but the boat sank. My friend, Peter, who could swim tried to swim ashore, but didn´t make it. I remember his scream as a thing dragged him down and hoped he would stop. There was a silence, then, I heard the voices of the adult coming to the rescue. They never found Peter in a pond that had no bottom, was lukewarm and boundless and had its foundation in the maelstrom of conflicting horrors.