Story - "Xen"

Xen was floating.
Through long lashes he gazed blankly at the diamond-littered darkness above him. Stars were strewn across the night sky like salt on a velvet cloth, reaching endlessly in all directions. There were no clouds, just a still and silent abyss.
His body was submerged but for his chest and the highest part of his face. He realised that he was trembling, shivering from the icy water he drifted in that reflected the black night sky. He had long ago lost the ability to feel the cold.
His slow drift down the river was uninterrupted, but he was not alone. Several times his hands had bobbed briefly on the surface of the water, only to come into contact with cold stiff objects. It wasn't until a long slender white finger had traced his cheekbone that he had realised that they were bodies. Bodies that were the pure white of virgin snow, which came into stark contrast with the flat, dark water that carried them swiftly onwards. How many were alive, he wasn't sure. He couldn't tell the difference from where he lay motionless. It didn't matter. They would all be corpses come dusk. This icy beast would freeze their bones and slowly devour them as they slipped below it's deceptively calm surface.
So, he floated on, eyes lolling as he awaited the inevitable. Every now and then the soft trailing fingers of a weeping willow would skim his eyelids, tickling them slightly, or a glowing hand would float towards him, catching in his hair and continuing on. Once, his hand ran over a smooth and lightly haired head, tracing the point of a tiny nose, parted lips and a rounded chin. His numb fingers slid along something hard and stiff, as cold as an iceberg, before feeling the tiny stubs of an infant's clenched fist. He turned his head slightly. A mother, her eyes closed and her face at peace, clutched her newborn baby to her side. It's miniture hand was fisted in it's singed clothing below her bangled wrist. The side of the baby's face, from it's temple to the corner of it's blue lips, was raw and red; a large patch of skinless burnt flesh. It had not lasted the plunge into the river. The mother floated into darkness before he could see the agonizing burns that had driven her into the water, dragging her already deceased child with her.
Xen raised his eyes back to the sky. His mind was too far gone to feel grief, or horror. He was all but dead.
A light was passing near him, coming towards him against the flow of the river. The purple glow lit the nearest bodies, before a long smooth wooden stick pushed them below the surface. The staff moved rhythmically over the bodies, easing them into the hungry river, then pausing...moving onto the next white corpse. The purple light appeared above him, casting it's unusual glow over his still face and glittering in his unblinking eyes. It was a lantern, hung a metre from his reach, swinging slightly as the sculpted orange piece of wood supporting it rocked and swayed. He saw no more before the staff pushed down on his collarbone, and his face plunged into water. He released his last breath, smiling as the trail of bubbles spiralled upwards, shimmering purple. A hand - oddly brown instead of white - dove into the water, fingers extended as it reached for him.
The pressure on his deoxygenated brain won out, and darkness strangled his vision, enclosing him, as something hard and firmed locked onto his shoulder.
Xen died.

Poetry - "The Screaming"

Can you hear it?
The twisted, warped lies in my head.
You'll be fine.
Nothing will hurt you.
Jump.

Can you see it?
The gold around my neck.
Heavy and choking.
Pulling me down.
Be steady.

Can you feel it?
The cold sting of fresh raindrops.
Mark this pale skin with tears.
Drive that ice down to my bones.
Sinking.

Can you feel it?
The concrete beneath my feet.
Hold this shaking body up.
Present me for all to see.
So high.

Can you see it?
That black darkness below me.
Reflected golden eyes staring back at me.
The wind that curls the wave.
So deep.

Can you hear it?
The wind in my ears.
The crash of water on flesh.
The silence of the darkness.
The screaming.

Can you hear the screaming?
I think it might be me.