The Lake

The weather is wonderful. Every day we wake up and the sun is shining so brightly our room is fully illuminated even though the curtains are shut tight. Every morning I wake up and my eyes shoot open excitedly. I’ve been waiting months for this holiday and I don’t want to waste a second of it having a lie in.

“What’s it like out there?” Megan asks. She is still in bed, lying on her side with her back to me. I am stood at the window staring out at the lake that stretches out for miles in front of me. Soon the lake will be covered with people in boats and canoes but right now the lake is still and silent.

“Another perfect day,” I say. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“As soon as we’ve had breakfast I’m going swimming.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. I think I will join you.”

“We can take the boat out later as well.

The boat is my new toy. I bought it a couple of weeks before the holiday. We have to keep the speed down when we’re out on the lake because there are people everywhere but it is still a lot of fun. The boat is white and shiny and it moves across the water so smoothly it is like we are floating on air.

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“Tie it round the bar real tight,” I say to Megan as I tie the ropes on my side of the boat. The boat looks like it is precariously balanced on the trailer and I fear it will topple and fall. “Make sure there’s no give at all: we don’t want the boat moving around when we’re on the motorway.

“Like this?” Megan asks. I glance over and see the rope wrapped tightly around the axle just like it needs to be.
“That’s perfect. Just tie a little knot and you’re all done.”

I return my attention to my own rope and finish tying my own knot. After the boat is secured I walk all the way around it inspecting it to make sure it is tied down really tightly. When I am satisfied I climb into the driver’s seat of the truck. Megan is already in the passenger seat with her book propped open on her knee. She is halfway through the book but she has been halfway through the book the whole holiday. There was no time for reading when we had the lake at our disposal. I put the key into the ignition and turn on the engine.

“Don’t speed,” Megan says. “We have speed limits for a reason.”

“I know, I know,” I say but really I know that I will speed. If we drive the speed limit it will take us all day to get home.



“Try not to move, honey,” I say. I try to sound calm when all I want to do is cry. Something, some shard of metal maybe, shot through the windscreen and pierced Megan’s neck. It only glanced the side of her neck but it must have nicked an artery because there is an obscene amount of blood pouring out of the wound.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Megan says. Her voice is quiet and drowsy. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a bit.”
“No,” I say. “Stay awake.”

I don’t know why she is supposed to stay awake but I have heard paramedics saying that on TV shows.
“Keep your eyes open until the ambulance gets here.”

It is already too late: her eyes close and her head lolls forward onto her chest. I continue applying pressure to her wound with all of the force I can manage.



“Megan was a kind person,” I say. My voice is clear and confident. I thought I would cry but it seems that I have cried so much there are no tears left inside of me. The brown coffin in front of the pulpit is raised off the ground, The audience is sat to the side of the grave that will not be empty for much longer. “She was sweet, nice, generous. She was a perfect wife and a perfect mother.”

I glance over at where my kids are sat. Jason is leaning forward with his head in his hands. He clearly hasn’t cried all of his tears yet. Molly is sat to his left in a black dress with lace trim. She keeps pushing her circular glasses out of the way so she can dab her eyes.

“She made me as happy as I could have ever been,” I continue. “Every second I had with her was a blessing. I…” The tears come. I can’t finish my speech. The priest gently leads me away from the pulpit. When I am sat back in my seat the pallbearers lower the coffin into the grave. They let me throw the first handful of soil into the hole.
The wake is uneventful. People tell me they’re sorry but it doesn’t help.

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“People say you were going fast,” the big policeman says. He is so muscly his arms are clearly defined under his tight shirt. His eyes are strong and serious. “People say you were going at least 80. The people in the car you hit say you were going faster than them and they were going the speed limit. How fast do you think you were going?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “The speed limit I guess. Who pays attention to their speedometer anyway?”

“So you admit you weren’t paying attention to how fast you were going?” The younger policeman says. He is just a kid, barely older than 18. He is leaning forward on his chair and jotting down notes on a little black notebook.

“I was going the speed limit,” I say, lying. I can see in the policemen’s eyes that they know I am lying. I look at them like I know they know I am lying.



“I didn’t murder her,” I say. I glance at the jury to my left. They look back at me with 12 very serious expressions. Their lips are pursed and their eyes are cold. I look at the judge. His hair is short and curt and grey. I can see in his eyes that he has seen this exact situation many times before. “I would never hurt her. I would never harm a hair on her head. I loved her. I loved her with all of my heart. She was my wife. She was my favourite person in the world. I didn’t murder her.”

“Nobody is saying murder,” the judge says. “The charge is manslaughter. You say you don’t know how fast you were going. Everybody that was speeding says that.”



“10 bloody years for speeding,” Jimmy says. He is my new cell mate. His orange jumpsuit doesn’t fit him either. “I swear our legal system is a joke.”

“They didn’t call it speeding,” I say. “They called it manslaughter.”

“It don’t make no sense. You didn’t kill your wife. Nobody killed your wife. They call them car accidents for a reason.”

“Apparently that’s exactly what manslaughter is; manslaughter is accidental murder. That’s what they say I did. That’s the crime they say I committed.”



I stare out at the lake. The water is calm and still and flat. I’ve been thinking about this place a lot recently. This is the last place we were together. This is the last place she was alive. This is the last place I was truly happy.

I got out a week ago. I tried to call both my kids but neither of them answered. I left them voicemails and sent them texts. Neither of them responded. They might text me back and they might not. I haven’t seen either of them in years and years. Molly only visited me once the whole time I was in prison. She came in a week after I got there. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She shouted at me. She said I’d murdered Mum. I promised her I was going the speed limit. I said this was all just an insurance scam from the other driver. She said she hated me. She said she never wanted to see me again. She stormed out of the room and left her little cream coloured phone swinging on its lead.

I stare out over the lake. The water is so still that a single drop of rain would ruin its perfection. Soon there will be children playing on it but for now there is nothing. For now the lake is peaceful. For now the lake is sleeping. For now the lake is dreaming about me exactly like I dream about it.

I crouch down and scrabble around in the pebbles at my feet until I find a nice flat one. I straighten up and chuck the pebble at the lake as hard as I can. The pebble skims a couple of time. Every time it impacts the water it sends out little circular ripples that scar the lake and make it ugly and ruined and full of hate like I am now.

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Dominik Slusarczyk is an artist who makes everything from music to painting. He was educated at The University of Nottingham where he got a degree in biochemistry. His fiction has been published in various literary magazines including The Raven Review and Odd Magazine. His fiction came 1st in The Cranked Anvil Short Story Competition, 2nd in The Streetlight Magazine Flash Fiction Contest, and 3rd in The Northwind Writing Award. His full-length poetry collection Reaction is out now with Cyberwit.

Image by Peter Hüller from Pixabay