Sink

Before the Ripples

The water reeks with the smell of rot. It is sludge, is it not? Why did I call it water? Water smells like freedom and satiation. Water absorbs all your sorrows and imbues pure rejuvenating energy into your bones. This sludge sends pulses of irritation through my legs as I drag along. Water is an angel, this a devil. I shall call it sludge. The sludge reeks with the smell of rot.

I'm waist deep in it. In this lighting, or lack thereof, you can hardly see its murky green color. Its brown undertones. Its yellowish blots and black lines of slimy muck. My eyes can, though. Perhaps I can close them and imagine I am wading through a shallow pool. Replace the stench of rot with that of fish and salt. Or chlorine with the slight tang of urine. Anything would be better than this.

Something pulls on my foot. I feel it slowly climb up my ankle, peeking under the leg of my trousers, where before then the fabric was entirely stuck to my skin. It twirls around my leg, tickling me. I shiver as I try to shake it off, knowing exactly what comes next if I don't. The demon won't budge. I crouch a bit and make to grab it. In the second it sees my hand, it fulfills what it has come here to do.

"Goddammit!" I shriek.

It's needle-like teeth bite into my leg. I feel them sinking into the flesh. I feel the awful fluid being pumped into the muscle. A toxin that would otherwise be lethal if I was any other creature. I take hold of it and pull, its disgusting tentacles attach themselves to my calf, holding on for dear life. Quite literally. I manage to remove it. I twist its little body in my hands, breaking its neck in the process. Gray smoke leaves its mouth as its life is drained out of it. I toss it far off. I hope I never have to see another one of its kind again.

I reach the opposite shore of the swamp and drag myself out.

I have been roaming this uninhabited forest for weeks now. Entertaining myself by exploring every nook and cranny. Eating berries and mushrooms. Sleeping up in trees to avoid creatures like the one whose bite's still throbbing. Today's adventure has led me through the swamp to another cluster of trees.

Something is different about these trees, though. Their trunks are thicker, foliage more tangled. I can't see past the first few. Not even the grass between each of their protruding roots.

I approach, curiosity sending dopamine up to my brain in a heady rush. Finally, something interesting.

I have to flatten my back against each tree to slip between them. It's fun, like walking through a maze, or one of those human obstacle courses. I snuck out once, more than once. I know all there is to know about fabricated forms of human entertainment.

The deeper I go, the less I hear. I don't know if it's my fascination drowning out the noise or if nothing bodes here. I should be able to hear the bugs between the cracks of bark, but I don't. I don't hear the rustling of the leaves. Or the rippling surface of the sludge I have just left behind. The only thing I can hear are my footsteps, because I want to hear them. I want them to make noise. I want to be real. I want to be human.

The trees give way and I barely catch myself from plummeting to the floor. Good. I want to be anything but graceful. I look up from my knees. And then fall to them in astonishment.

A pond. So vast and magnificent. It is the dead of night but it twinkles. The canopy covers the stars and moon, and yet it twinkles. It extends from where I stand to the edges of the clearing, leaving no room to sit, no room to walk. I crawl closer. This... I'm too scared to say it, too scared to think it.

This looks like my deepest desire. My dream constructed.

Mushrooms in various colors and sizes line it. Their shapes twisting and straight, clustered and isolated, deadly and delicious, all in one place. The grass here is the brightest I have ever seen. Brighter even than that of the Faerielands. My fingers trail it. The softest I have ever felt. What is this place?

The water is darker than the swamp's, but not due to soil or rotting vegetation. Even from this far, I can tell it is deep. As deep as the sky it appears to be reflecting. The sky it shouldn't be reflecting, because it is hidden from it.

I want to crouch over it. I want to see the sparkles up close. It smells like freshness and satiation. Freedom.

My knee moves, then freezes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand in anticipation. A sense of harrowing fear fills me. I haven't felt anything like it in years. I lean back, gasping and gulping air. What's going on? My hand grabs my shirt, pulling at where my heart is pounding without rhythm, pain rocketing with every beat. So loud it almost covers the only rustling in the entire area. Almost.

I try to stop gasping. I cover my mouth. I strain my ears, using the powers I used to pray to be rid of. I feel the point of my right ear move, and the sensation unnerves me more than anything I had experienced in the last few minutes.

Another rustle.

My eyes widen. I am suffocating. I remember my hand and yank it off my face.

There.

Someone is watching me.

Nothing shows of them but their eyes, deep between the dark trunks.

They sparkle.

Just like the water before me.

I can't see it, but I sense it.

The sinful eyes are smiling.