The fog was settling once more at the riverside, punctuated by lofty incandescence, lending it the image of an eerie suspended ocean, lazy and sickly on its own ego.
One step in and we were wading though the insidious miasma. Sound and light suffocated. Our senses heightened and dampened all at once leaving a clammy residue on our minds.
You asked if I could see the moon and I lied. The hungry eels writhing in the mist around my calves would have heard.
The poisonous water is rising from the condensed fog, and my heels are snagging on carnivorous weeds, begging in their hunger for one of us to damn well drown.
You waited patiently for me to take your hand once again.
You would have had me on my knees if I looked the other way. Held me down while I swallowed those adventitious eels. Choking me on betrayal and loss and the knowledge of my weakness.
But I didn’t look away.
I should have gone there to bury you, melt your remnants into the ether, but I was too afraid of what might mutate from your grave even in the half light, if I left you for dead. Although your corrupted frame makes light of such fericiousness, I still rember what you once were. A hideous part of me, eager for suicide or sororicide or whatever the hell you’d call the death of a symbiont turned parasite.
One day I’m going to sever this umbilicus while you sleep, but for now let’s just hope no-one turns off the streetlight or we’ll both just disappear.
(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016