Post by Padowan on Apr 21, 2015 20:17:14 GMT -6
An attempt at twisted fiction using life as inspiration. Just for fun.
Comfort is Stagnation
The mist coated her skin in a cool clammy grasp as she pushed through the wall of moisture, the fog countering her advances as best it could with denser forces. She treaded carefully concentrating on each step of her sandaled feet as they fell upon the muck. Each step produced a resonating slurp while sinking into the cold gripping mud, submerging ankle deep and threatening to keep her locked in place. A resounding smack cried in detest as she freed her flesh from the snare of tenacious earthen slime. The swamp forest trees carried the fog upon their boughs, holding up the thickest grey matter above her head, allowing her to pass. A low roar of disturbance was building in the distance. She tensed as the air became charged and the sounds of creaks, snaps and rushing noises intensified in front of her. A searing and brittle-dry gust overtook her and slammed against her face, rustling the marsh grasses and forcing the rigid tree limbs to creak and snap. Her eyes forced shut and her hair lifted behind her, whipping and snapping. A hot and foul demonic breath, awash with pungent sulfur and gases of decomposition poured across, over and through her. The filth of decaying air cleansed her skin of the dripping moisture, infiltrating her nostrils, bringing tears of pain and disgust. A clearing was created in the fog and before her lay the stagnant lake.
The wafting remnant of wind tussled her hair and flowed through her dress, caressing her thighs with fabric. The surface of the lake, though, was unaffected. No ripples. No sign of airborne disturbance. Stagnation flowed up from the depths preventing movement of any kind. No lapping waves. No frog croaked nor dragonfly hovered. The water lay still; waiting.
The bank was lined with thickened mounds of moss creeping about the stones that decorated the shoreline. Nothing grew at the water’s edge; a rigid line of distinction between life and non-life. No reeds or marshes. No lily pads graced the water’s surface. She stepped to the edge kneeling down to overturn a stone when her hand froze in mid-air. The murky, dark water moved. Not in a natural flowing manner. No, it pulled towards her. The water-like substance lifted and moved of its own will, drawn to her hand. She jerked back and stood up, heart racing. The pool receded its extension. Silent and dark and motionless.
The young woman slowly walked along the shoreline keeping a careful eye on the dark pool. She was told to obtain the secret of the swamp pool but getting near the water’s edge was no longer an option. Fear slipped in between her consciously formed mental barricade of bravery, gaining entrance into her clarity of mind. Once the root of panic had settled escape from its tendrils of doubt and pessimism was a losing possibility. She scanned the forest for sticks and stones. Settling her choice on a long broken twisted weathered section of vine and smooth oval stone she picked them both up and walked closer to the dark pool’s edge. Taking the stone in her right hand she angled back her wrist and tossed it into a perfect combination of spin and arc to skim the surface as a skipping stone should. The stone spun in a clockwise direction to the pool edge but did not cross. In an instant the dark waters rose into a smooth glossy convex finish, perfectly mimicking a glass wall in line with the pool edge, deflecting the stone back directly at the woman striking her on the back of her right hand. A precise slice of flesh was torn and a crescent of blood exuded. She stifled a cry and grabbed her hand to stop the blood flow.
Hesitantly she took the vine in her left hand and extended it out towards the pool. She pulled it back over her left shoulder and threw it forward towards the pool. As she released she ducked behind a tree. There was no sound. No splash or thud. No sound at all. She peered around the trunk of the tree to see the vine held up, motionless, by the black substance above the water’s surface. She began to move around the tree when the vine struck her cleanly in her left ribcage, piercing her skin and bone. Screams echoed across the pool and between the trunks of the forest. Grasping firmly she yanked the vine but its weathered nature broke and a splintered fragment remained embedded in her torso, shedding blood down her dress.
Resigning her hunt for the pool’s secrets she started towards the forest heading back towards home. With a quickened pace she walked south but could not find her original path. Scanning the woods for any familiar branch or rock formation she only found disappointing dead ends. She hadn’t traveled that far from where she thought the trailhead should have been so she turned back, retracing her steps. On the return walk she thought she noticed the same stones and the same trees but this time in a reverse mirror image. Each time she believed she had gone too far the forest reversed again. A wave of realization crossed her mind and she knew she was being diverted by illusionary paths. No matter how many times she turned around the scene remained the same.
All the while the forest had remained quiet. The hours were hastening towards nightfall. Determined and scared she chose a random direction and charged ahead but the swamp muck had thickened and deepened. She sank to her knees and the mud held her down tightly and refused to give in to her straining muscles. Scrambling and clawing she grappled with marsh grasses to her side. Their blades bit sharply back, severing the skin from her fingers as she struggled to maintain a grip. Using her elbows and crawling on her belly she bloodied her hands in a fight with the grasses and heaved herself back onto solid ground. Now on a small island of earth she shared with a single sapling her gaze was pulled back to the pool. The moon was rising over its black surface and the pool was rising as well. The black plasma lifted in the center into a billow of fluid threatening to grow into its own black moon. The edges of the pool stretched and pulled outward, engulfing the ground under it. She knew its intentions. Spinning around she eyed a tree trunk about ten feet away. She wrestled a nearby log across the swamp muck and balanced herself on the end. Steadily she crossed the swamp. Sinking and compressing under her weight the log squeezed slurps and gurgles from the swamp’s moistened terrain. She turned back once. The pool had reached her island. No longer crawling but growing. Its height had grown nearly twelve feet high. Trees and swamp were disappearing under a tar dome. Putting her arms and legs around the tree she gripped tightly and shimmied up the trunk. Pain ripped through her from her ribcage and her tender palms as she pressed them against the grating bark. Her dress hung down below her, dripping a mixture of mud and blood. The only illumination was a sliver of moon slowly being shadowed by the growing pool of dark matter.
There was no sound. No light. Only the beating of her heart and the panicked whispers of her racing mind. At twenty feet up she could go no further. The branches blocked her advances. A heat permeated the air around her. She could sense a vibrational hum and soon she felt it. Warm comfort coated the soles of her foot sliding up over her ankle and caressing her calf. It was so relaxing. So soothing. Why was she afraid? Her hands were coaxed from their grip with sensual massages and she loosened her fingers without resistance. Slowly she allowed the calm, comfortable warmth to envelope her body and pull her down into its abyss of security. Believing in her safety in the warm sensations of darkness she gave up all struggle. She smiled all the way down until the last moment the dark plasma entered her mouth, drowning her in comfort.
The night was disturbed by only one noise throughout the evening. One rush of foul breath filled with the smell of decaying flesh.