02-19-2021, 04:27 PM
In a little pool, bathed in night and cooler than it ever had been before, a trio of leathery eggs bobbed. Two lay swollen and heavy, their seams stressing with the life they were struggling to contain. The third was dull and wrinkled. A life evaporated before it had the chance to begin.
It was a world without light, with little hope, with things that went bump (and much worse) in the night. That was what they were born into, on a day that should have been sunny, and warm and full of promise. That they existed at all was a miracle in itself, and so why shouldn't they carry promise themselves?
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Acionna. Beautiful, sensitive, a little squiddy. She picked her way over the dark shore with care, eyes on the edge of the water and rarely anywhere else. Would she see one? The slippery, ropy bodies of creatures that lived in the sea, that would bite and swallow a filly whole if she got too close to the edge. She felt daring even this near the edge of the black water, eyes aching with the determination to see.
How close was too close? She was, perhaps, walking that line. And there would be no fooling anyone who caught her, either. Not with her spots of colored light that stood out in the darkness. Like stars, her mother had told her once, wistful. Acionna did not know what stars were. Not anymore than she knew the sun and the moon as anything but an angry eye above her. There was no "before" to the girl. Only now. Only night.
And this little island, with its strange sounds and the faint-but-growing scent of decay. Nothing else existed, nothing that she could prove. They did not touch the ocean. They drank only from a few fresh springs, and only when accompanied by someone to take turns watching with. It wasn't safe. That was the reply, anytime she asked a question about their circumstances. After a while, she stopped asking.
Instead, she wandered as far as the island would allow. Learned the curves and quirks of the landscape by touch and by dull sight. Spent time with the siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews that occupied their own sections of isle.
Sometimes she dreamed of the world the way they told her it used to be. Of light and color and warmth. It seemed impossible. She couldn't even imagine some of the things they talked about, and had to push down weedy threads of jealousy that they had experienced these unbelievable things, even just for a while.
Her world was black and grey and blue. Monochrome, flat. The leggy filly nosed alone along the beach line, humming the faint notes of a song that had been stuck in head since she'd woken up. She couldn't seem to get it quite right. A hermit crab scuttled past her feet, bee-lining for a stinking fish carcass that had washed up. They did that a lot.
She watched it lunch on the mushy flesh with vague interest for a minute, her own light reflecting from the critter's shell. At least someone was having a good time.
It was a world without light, with little hope, with things that went bump (and much worse) in the night. That was what they were born into, on a day that should have been sunny, and warm and full of promise. That they existed at all was a miracle in itself, and so why shouldn't they carry promise themselves?
--------
Acionna. Beautiful, sensitive, a little squiddy. She picked her way over the dark shore with care, eyes on the edge of the water and rarely anywhere else. Would she see one? The slippery, ropy bodies of creatures that lived in the sea, that would bite and swallow a filly whole if she got too close to the edge. She felt daring even this near the edge of the black water, eyes aching with the determination to see.
How close was too close? She was, perhaps, walking that line. And there would be no fooling anyone who caught her, either. Not with her spots of colored light that stood out in the darkness. Like stars, her mother had told her once, wistful. Acionna did not know what stars were. Not anymore than she knew the sun and the moon as anything but an angry eye above her. There was no "before" to the girl. Only now. Only night.
And this little island, with its strange sounds and the faint-but-growing scent of decay. Nothing else existed, nothing that she could prove. They did not touch the ocean. They drank only from a few fresh springs, and only when accompanied by someone to take turns watching with. It wasn't safe. That was the reply, anytime she asked a question about their circumstances. After a while, she stopped asking.
Instead, she wandered as far as the island would allow. Learned the curves and quirks of the landscape by touch and by dull sight. Spent time with the siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews that occupied their own sections of isle.
Sometimes she dreamed of the world the way they told her it used to be. Of light and color and warmth. It seemed impossible. She couldn't even imagine some of the things they talked about, and had to push down weedy threads of jealousy that they had experienced these unbelievable things, even just for a while.
Her world was black and grey and blue. Monochrome, flat. The leggy filly nosed alone along the beach line, humming the faint notes of a song that had been stuck in head since she'd woken up. She couldn't seem to get it quite right. A hermit crab scuttled past her feet, bee-lining for a stinking fish carcass that had washed up. They did that a lot.
She watched it lunch on the mushy flesh with vague interest for a minute, her own light reflecting from the critter's shell. At least someone was having a good time.