05-09-2021, 04:39 PM
Content Warning
This post contains content that may be unsettling to some readers, including:- Description of previous character death
He dreamt of drowning.
He dreamt of cold water rushing up to meet him, and him meeting it. Someone—something—in the depths below, just out of reach. Dark and green and murky. Shimmering, and iridescent, in the light at the bottom of the pond. Filtered through a layer of ice, first frozen and then thawed then frozen again, over the span of three years.
It was lonely, at the bottom.
Among the sediment and the rock and the reeds.
Fish, foolishly deposited by birds and left to prosper, in the pond. Nowhere else to go. The croak of frogs in the spring and summer.
Water disturbed time and time again.
And his body left undiscovered.
Friends, bitter and confused and angry.
And learning to live with it.
His family, long since forgotten.
By himself, and by them themselves.
And what an awful way, for an ataatatsiaq to reunite with his irngutaq, after so many months—after so many years—apart.
One as a pile of sun-bleached bones, under the tundra sun, and the other waterlogged and sodden, at the bottom of a pond.
And he awoke—
First as a gasp of lungs desperate for air, the water cold and shocking. His reaction unintentional and accidental. Body running on autopilot.
And he awoke—
Slower, this time, on the edges of consciousness, yellow eyes distant and unfocused, to the red furred face of a wolf.
Blue eyes calculating.
Blue eyes searching, for any signs of life.
And his eyes finding none, before pushing him back in.
And he awoke—
On the water’s edge.
Frozen clutches lapping at him.
His fur waterlogged and sodden.
Washed ashore, after all those years.
And he awoke—
For real, this time, on the water’s edge.
His fur and lungs dry.
The air cool and forgiving. The spring’s grass dry and prickling and poking. And the sky clear.
He dreamt of cold water rushing up to meet him, and him meeting it. Someone—something—in the depths below, just out of reach. Dark and green and murky. Shimmering, and iridescent, in the light at the bottom of the pond. Filtered through a layer of ice, first frozen and then thawed then frozen again, over the span of three years.
It was lonely, at the bottom.
Among the sediment and the rock and the reeds.
Fish, foolishly deposited by birds and left to prosper, in the pond. Nowhere else to go. The croak of frogs in the spring and summer.
Water disturbed time and time again.
And his body left undiscovered.
Friends, bitter and confused and angry.
And learning to live with it.
His family, long since forgotten.
By himself, and by them themselves.
And what an awful way, for an ataatatsiaq to reunite with his irngutaq, after so many months—after so many years—apart.
One as a pile of sun-bleached bones, under the tundra sun, and the other waterlogged and sodden, at the bottom of a pond.
And he awoke—
First as a gasp of lungs desperate for air, the water cold and shocking. His reaction unintentional and accidental. Body running on autopilot.
And he awoke—
Slower, this time, on the edges of consciousness, yellow eyes distant and unfocused, to the red furred face of a wolf.
Blue eyes calculating.
Blue eyes searching, for any signs of life.
And his eyes finding none, before pushing him back in.
And he awoke—
On the water’s edge.
Frozen clutches lapping at him.
His fur waterlogged and sodden.
Washed ashore, after all those years.
And he awoke—
For real, this time, on the water’s edge.
His fur and lungs dry.
The air cool and forgiving. The spring’s grass dry and prickling and poking. And the sky clear.
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