The wood beneath him creaked softly as he sat at the edge, legs hanging over the water.
They almost touched the cold water. Yet just enough so they didn't meet.
He hadn't felt what it was to have his feet surrounded by water, but his father told him it was really cold, so he wasn't so mad about it.
The lake stretched out in front of him, still and quiet, its surface barely disturbed; it was always like this, since the first time he saw it. It reflected the sky above, though something about it felt… off. The colors were there, but duller, like they didn't fully belong.
Many might not even notice this change; after all, they were barely noticeable, yet for someone like him, who has seen it every day, he could feel it.
This lake... it was one of the only things he still had from his father, who had died when he was young. He had to take on his job since taking care of his mother and brothers, getting food and stuff.
He has seen these waters more than he has seen himself.
