Fiction · Scene · Writing


The marshes are dank and cold. The water is high to your knees and thick as honey. Your ears bleeding, dripping slowly, sore and the hum conquers all other noises the forest produces. The icy zephyr creates ripples in the water as if there was an invisible hand skidding across. Moonlight reveals the cloudy mud infested water, filth comes up, knees reaching your torso with each step. Shimmering light shines into your eyes, reflecting the huntress, reflecting you. Mirror shards clutter the underside of the marsh: your boot crushes a large mirror, producing these shards. A tight grip takes custody of your right thigh. The constrict has a shroud of brown marsh and undetectable in the shards. The tightness is present and increasing with each passing moment, narrowing subsides, and your unable to feel your right leg. Paddling to the exit, trying to leave the thick marshes, regretting traveling deeper into the tears of the forest. Sharp agony impales your abdomen. A brown sleek serpent attached to your belly like a limb. Your body adds a red tint to the cloudy marshes. You began feeling tight, fingers becoming unresponsive, losing feeling in your left leg, perception of your surroundings vanishing. Your scream is stolen by the forest, marshes taking over. Peering towards the exit, a third serpent emerges. This one is larger than the other two, same sleekness, with a sage body. The eyes. The serpent’s eyes were magnificent. The large emeralds, white sclera encloses tightly around, circular like a solemnly human. Cracks across the sclera construct black straight hard turning lines that have remanence of ruins. No longer able to move your lower half of your body, out reaching toward the eyes. Your hand began gradually turning into stone. Trying to move your fingers, like you have before, and nothing. Forearm commencing the process as the stone disease takes your body. The eyes never leave yours. A lonely tear travels from your disease-free eye as the emerald ones do the same.


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