M.A. Kleen

Twenty-five years ago, I self-published The River of Rain, a philosophical exploration of freedom, human nature, and the modern world. To mark its anniversary, I’m releasing a fully revised edition, one chapter every Wednesday. This is the novel as it was meant to be.

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Monday, November 10th

6:45 a.m.

Ariana climbed out of her bed, which resembled a giant fluffy marshmallow, and felt her toes sink into the soft carpet. She was surrounded by pink. Her bedspread, pillows, even the curtains at the window were all shades of the same color. She shoved several stuffed animals aside before hoisting herself up and stumbling toward the bathroom attached to her room.

She wore cotton pajamas patterned with little hearts, her favorite pair. She glanced at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her hair was a mess, and her face looked wrong without its familiar layers of makeup. Ariana quickly shed her pajamas and stepped into the shower, where she spent the next ten minutes trying to wake up and wash the night’s grime away. Water splashed against her skin, but the few hours of sleep she had managed the night before dulled any sense of warmth in the spray.

7:27 a.m.

Ariana ignored her family as she hurriedly poured herself a bowl of cereal, trying to decide whether what she was wearing actually matched. She had on jeans and a sweatshirt for the cold weather, tight enough to matter and, she hoped, still in style. Everywhere in the house there was the same rushing and low-grade panic she felt herself.

Her parents were already dressed for work. Her father sat with his head buried in the newspaper while her mother frantically assembled sandwiches. Ariana snapped at her little brother when he deliberately bumped into her, shattering her train of thought.

“Butthead!”

She glanced at the clock and felt a spike of panic. The school bus would be there any minute. She abandoned her cereal, she never had time for breakfast anymore anyway, and rushed out the door with a muffled “bye.” She made it just in time as the yellow school bus pulled up outside. Once aboard, she quickly found her usual seat, far from the unpopular kids and surrounded by her familiar circle of friends.

Morning

Dawn awakened Victor from a restful night’s sleep. He ran his fingers through his wild, uncombed hair, brushing away bits of straw. His bare feet struck the cold floor with a dull thud. The granular rock beneath him was coated in a thin layer of dirt, just enough to take the edge off the chill against his skin. He had no shoes, only the hardened soles of his feet, which served just as well.

Everything felt right about the world as he stepped from the cave’s entrance to greet the morning sun. He stretched and yawned. From the mouth of the cave, he could see the inlet below, framed by towering limestone walls streaked with color, a shining pool, and the steady spill of the waterfall. Victor had always loved the early morning, the quiet moment as the sun rose. His empty stomach growled for attention, and with a sigh he turned to the regrettable task of gathering wood for a fire.

It wasn’t difficult to reignite embers from the previous night, and soon Victor’s lungs filled with the scent of burning logs. Wood had a distinct smell at that hour, one every camper knew but that defied description. His mind woke up slowly as he tried to clear the fog from his head, knowing it would lift as the sun climbed higher into the sky.

He was hungry for breakfast, and the only thing he had on hand was leftover fish from the night before. He set it on a flat rock beside the fire and let it simmer. He had once tried stocking the small pool with fish, but they always died, and he could never quite figure out why. One of his theories was that there simply wasn’t enough oxygen in the water to support life, especially a school of large river fish. But he wasn’t a biologist, and he hadn’t done particularly well in that class the last time he took it, all those years ago.

He sat in the beach-like stretch of sand that ringed the small stream leading out of the pool and down toward the river. The river wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t close either, a broad expanse stretching for miles out of sight. He sat there thinking until the fish finished simmering and he could no longer stand the sight of it. Without bothering to cut it up, Victor ate it as it was, removing only the scales and fins. Hot juices dribbled down his chin, and he smiled in quiet satisfaction.

10:30 a.m.

Ariana sat in the back of the classroom, chewing her gum in silence as if it were an art form. Her eyes flicked constantly from the teacher to the clock, to a guy she smiled at, and then back to the clock again. The other students looked as though they were on the verge of passing out. Eyes wandered everywhere they shouldn’t, and there was nothing that could be done to relieve the boredom. Paper wads flew, notes were passed, jokes cracked. It was a Prozac pusher’s dream world.

Class bored Ariana senseless, especially now. In a few short weeks, she and the rest of the cheerleaders would be on the road to the state championship with their high school football team. Miles away, there would be no school, no rules, and best of all, no parents. She couldn’t wait for the hotel parties, the beer and wine, and the guys. Her mind lingered on the fantasy while the rest of her sat clueless, barely aware of what the teacher was saying. He had probably been a nerd in school anyway, and who listened to nerds?

“Hey, Sherry,” she whispered to the girl across from her, “do you see that guy over there?”

The teacher’s stern voice cut in. “Excuse me?” he demanded. “Do you have a question?”

Ariana shook her head, rolling her eyes, and as soon as his back was turned she resumed the conversation. She glanced at the clock again and thought about lunchtime. There was nothing better than congregating at her locker, catching up on whatever was going on with her friends. She wondered why they even bothered with classes at all. Soon the bell would ring and bring sweet relief from her torture.

Late Morning

Victor reclined on the sandy ground, enjoying the satisfaction of a partially filled stomach. He stared up at the clouds, as he had done countless times before, and thought about what the day might bring. He would probably wander through the woods as he always did, or gather food for later. Much of his time was spent collecting wood for the fire, but there was no urgency. He had all the time in the world.

Turning his head, he noticed a squirrel that had bounded up beside the stream and was drinking its fill. “What’s your name?” he asked, smiling. He didn’t expect an answer, but in its own way, the squirrel replied. It looked at him, twitched its nose as if acknowledging his presence, then scampered about. Victor had eaten squirrel only once, during a time of real desperation. He had learned that it was better, especially with winter fast approaching, to watch where they gathered nuts and follow their lead.

A sudden screech sent the squirrel bolting for the bushes. The sound came from a large black bird, nearly a foot tall, that glided in through the broad crescent opening in the roof of the enclave and settled onto a fallen tree nearby.

“Morning, Ingram,” Victor said, without turning his head. The raven answered with a soft, familiar caw. Like him, the bird had appeared one day and then simply stayed, coming and going as he pleased. Yet there was comfort in the bird’s presence. Victor spoke to him without thinking, and in the raven’s dark eyes he saw not menace or mystery, but something closer to understanding—an old, quiet awareness that made the silence feel less empty.

12:10 p.m.

The cafeteria roared as one continuous noise, everyone shoveling food into their mouths and throwing things when the monitors weren’t looking. Ariana sat at the same table she always did, surrounded by the rest of her friends, all cheerleaders, always in the same spot. Most of them picked at salads or a handful of french fries, never a full meal. The football players sat nearby, more interested in spitballs and staring at girls in short skirts and cutoffs, even though it was freezing outside.

Every so often, a security guard would pass through and bark at everyone to put on their ID tags, the plastic cards dangling from lanyards around their necks. The uniformed guards, more prison-like than anything, also constantly reminded them to throw their trash away. “That’s what the lunch ladies are for,” one of the girls shouted, and the table erupted in laughter.

“Oh my God,” Ariana said suddenly, her voice sharp with disgust as she pointed toward one of the outlying tables. “Those guys are staring at us.” Her friend made the same sound of revulsion and turned to complain to another girl, who leaned back and caught the attention of the football players behind them. The guys laughed, and a few of them stood up. The girls watched with delight as they crossed the room and began yelling at the table of social rejects.

The moment fizzled when the security guards caught wind of it and forced the two groups apart. Disappointed groans rippled through the room, and soon the cafeteria settled back into its usual, on-edge hum. Conversation shifted to their upcoming trip upstate.

“We’re going to get so drunk,” the girls shouted with glee. They began pairing off football players, planning who they would make out with and debating what to wear. Accusations of cheating on boyfriends soon followed, and Ariana tried to calm the two girls at the center of it. The cafeteria was always tense, especially with so many people crammed into a confined space. It never took much for things to explode.

Afternoon

The large beaver waddled along the riverbank, its movements slowing as the cold crept in. Victor watched from a distance. The animal knew he was there, he was sure of it, but a man who did not move was no danger. Hunger sharpened his thoughts, and his mind filled with practical visions of what that broad tail and thick hide could become.

He raised his bow and drew it back, the tension in the string matching the knot in his chest. Then doubt set in. The beaver likely had a family hidden away in its underwater lodge, and killing it would leave them to starve when winter settled in. Victor knew that kind of hunger too well.

Another thought followed, darker and harder to ignore. He could take them all. No slow deaths, no waste. The hides would keep him warm, the meat would last for days. The logic of it made sense, too much sense, and for a moment he almost convinced himself. But the image of small bodies in the lodge turned his stomach. Survival had rules, even out here, and that crossed a line he wasn’t ready to step over.

Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the bow and backed away. The decision felt right and wrong at the same time. It took strength to walk away when you had the power to kill, and that power frightened him more than the hunger did. He had seen what happened to those who ended up at the bottom, judged and helpless, and he swore he would never be there again. Fear drove him forward, and when fear lingered too long, it hardened into something close to hatred.

He forced the thoughts aside, but the hunger remained, steady and unforgiving. Victor wandered the woods for the rest of the day, driven by the need to find something—anything—that would keep him alive.

3:15 p.m.

Ariana breathed a sigh of relief as she boarded the bus for home. The school day had been too long, too stressful. It left her exhausted, and all she wanted was to crawl into bed, though she knew homework would come first. Her parents were determined that she get into a good college, which meant constant work. She had been raised to believe that a career came first and family second. Her mother often said that children only got in the way of success and that marriage should wait until after a job was secured.

Ariana didn’t care about any of that. All she could think about was the state game, and the freedom that came with it. She imagined the drive, the hotel, and the parties afterward, no parents, no rules.

The bus screeched to a stop at her house sooner than she expected. She stepped off and trudged up the front path, nearly stumbling as she reached the door. Inside, her father sat in the living room watching television and barely noticed her come in.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“She’s at a meeting. Won’t be home until late,” he replied automatically. Then, without looking away from the screen, he added, “Can you fix something in the kitchen for dinner?”

Ariana stopped short, stunned. “What do I look like, the maid?” she shouted as she stormed off. “Make it yourself!”

That night, they didn’t have dinner, and she didn’t mind. She told herself she needed to lose a little weight anyway. There would be a swimming pool at the hotel, after all. Homework was hard to focus on, but she lay on her bed for hours, working by the glow of the small television in her room. Sleep felt impossible. The excitement was too close, too loud in her mind.

Evening

Victor lay beneath a large tree at the center of a small clearing, eating a rabbit he had been fortunate enough to catch. In warmer months the ground would have been carpeted with green forest flowers tipped with small purple buds, but now it was nothing but fallen leaves. A small, carefully tended fire burned nearby. The place felt calm, almost sacred, and Victor found himself wondering if some quiet spirit lingered there. He had been thinking more and more about such things lately, energy, presence, the unseen weight certain places carried.

For the moment, he was calm, and that was enough. The clouds drifting across the orange sky soothed him as a sense of oneness crept over him. He felt part of the earth, as though he belonged to it, as though he had a place here. He knew he never would have felt that way back home. What he remembered instead was pain, years of torment handed out by people who had called themselves his friends.

It was almost too peaceful. His head nodded once, then again, and before he realized it, he drifted off to sleep.

In the dream, the forest remained, but its shapes had changed. The trees leaned closer together, their trunks narrowing into corridors of shadow. The air felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. He walked without direction until he sensed another presence.

A girl stood among the trees, indistinct, her features blurred as if he were seeing her through water. She did not speak, but the forest seemed to tighten around her, and Victor felt a pull he could not name. The unease did not come from her so much as through her, as if she were a doorway rather than a threat.

The darkness deepened. Movement stirred at the edges of his vision, not enemies, not forms he could define, just pressure, closing in. A black shape passed overhead, wings brushing the air. When he looked up, a single yellow eye hovered in the dark, watching. It did not threaten. It waited.

Then the forest shifted again. A tall figure emerged, wrapped in shadow, its shape more suggestion than flesh. A long spear gleamed faintly, planted in the ground like a boundary. The yellow eye widened, filling his vision, until there was nothing else.

Victor woke abruptly. Hours had passed, it was dark, and sweat clung to him despite the cold. His dwindling fire cast mocking shadows on the shelter walls. His dream slipped away the harder he tried to grasp it, leaving behind only a sense of warning without words. His gaze drifted to Ingram, perched quietly on a nearby branch. The raven watched him, calm and familiar, yet Victor felt a ripple of unease he could not explain. He shook it off and moved on. The black bird followed.

To be Continued…