vast water

there was red nail polish smeared on the vodka bottle. and it was empty, tipped over and sad in the dirt. the label was crumbling softly away from several nights spent out in the rain. the moss curling up in steaming pale green tendrils; that moss taking the vodka bottle away.

out in the distance it was miserable and blue. a dark cold violet where the mountains stretched, pale and white coming down, touching the stream, recoiling. the stream rolling. through rocks, touching them with its unsteady tongue, breaking clear in some places then going on brassy green dark forest gray with the movement of sediment.
noises of screaming (from the mouth of) the sky

that brilliant white sky so thick with fog,
colder than the water or the mountains or the earth colder than -

energy slowed to sludge matter, slowed enough to collapse the horizon.

the pressure was coming, and why? the mountains still strained furious and purple against the sky. the water crashed faster and faster outrunning yet never advancing, the same three waves breaking over the same boulder over and over again. the pressure should have cracked the trees. still? they stood tall as steel blades and unwavering stared disdainfully apathetic; not screaming.

the vodka bottle splintered to pieces beneath the pressure
and some little red flakes remained beside it.
there was possibly a woman's t shirt and pair of blue lace panties
near a little clearing in the grass where it happened.

but found never neither blood nor bone and investigations all proved inconclusive.