By Lilian St.Clair-Foster, TIWP Student

A sleek body glides through the clear water of the river, its fur the color of fermented coffee beans and freshly potted soil. A twig snaps to the left of the water, The force of a heavy weight the cause of its distortion as the ferret-like creature dives under the water, its reflexes quick and oh so important for my survival. I watch from the bottom of the bleary current, eyes wide and mind silent as I hug myself close to the smooth pebbles and rocks that litter my current space. My tongue flickers past my rounded head. My brilles, the smooth see-thru scales that act as my eyelids shimmer under the changing light before locking onto my next meal.

The rush of water splurges from the top of the river as I lunge, my jaw locked firmly around the slick body of the small mammal as I thrash. A tight rope of muscles and dull scales writhing as I try to keep a firm grip on the dying animal.

A small crack, and the animal lays limp in my hold, I have barely a second to feel proud of my speedy kill before I feel a rough and calloused hand grip me by the neck.

A rough voice greets me along with the cold air as I’m pulled from the water, a deep rumbling sound but distinctly human. “You’re getting faster by the day, Smalls.” A small hiss exits through my snout in the form of a sigh as my eyes turn to look at the male. A small part of me wishes I could reply, snap back with a witty remark. But I couldn’t so I settled for half-heartedly glaring. Covered in dirty ripped jeans and clad in a ragged henley, stood a man that was well over double my size. With a peppered gray beard colored from age and eyes half blind, the retired farmer was a man with borrowed time. His name is Dolion, a unique name I know, but it oddly fits him.

I’m placed on the bank of the river, the muddy ground cold and oddly comforting on my scales as Dolion pries the furry mammal from my jaw. If it had been any other human I would have lashed out, would’ve sunk my fangs into his flesh and wrapped myself so tightly around his leg I could act as a tourniquet. But me and Dolion had an occurring deal, I got him food, he gave me shelter.

Don’t ask me why or how, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve just known the man for as long as I can remember. Dolion wasn’t a bad man, but he sure wasn’t perfect. He smoked and cursed, and he’s god awfully smelly. But he’s better than the rest of his kind.

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I’m twice the size I was when I met him, with smooth scales unblemished by lifes steel grip. But that time has long since gone, my scales now dull and rough, black and gray in color to blend in with the dark mud I often inhabited. I find myself often thinking about what life would be like without him as I lounge on a pile of rocks by the river, the sunlight that streamed thru the tree’s leaves left spots and splotches of color worthy of a kaleidoscope. Warm and pleasant and safe.

-tch-

A sharp hiss works its way out of my mouth, a snake’s version of a curse as I whip around. My sharp fangs lunged behind me in an attack due to instinct.

Plastic, that’s my only cohesive thought other than blind fury when I’m wrapped tighter in the sturdy material, the sharp edges cutting into my scales as I thrash, a wild dance taking over my form as I try to escape. I can barely make out the sound of heavy feet padding on leaves before I feel hands pulling me from the death trap I had caught myself in.

“For such an independent little thing, you sure find a way to need my help often!”

Dolion.

I didn’t know whether I wanted to curse him out or pray to him like a god, but it didn’t matter much since he wouldnt understand. Dolion walked with a saunter that was undented by his limp, a jolly smile on his crooked face as he held me in his hands. I take the moment to just think, enjoying the foreign feeling of comfort that came wherever the man was, closer than his own shadow. Leaves and twigs cracked and jumped from under his feet, as if the ground knew to get out of his way. The branches above swayed in the gentle breeze, a cascade of different colors and textures and shapes; all unique and different from the other as they moved in an almost wave-like motion, like they were welcoming Dolion back home. The sun was low now, the bright light peeking over the horizon as if winking goodbye. Rounding a corner makes way to a small cottage, the roof cracked and frayed but still standing tall. I wish I could tell him to replace it, but I doubt he’d listen anyway. Dolion made it with his own hands, and Dolion is nothing if not proud. I’m snapped back to reality when I’m placed on the rough and scrappy texture of his doormat, it’s old and stained by weather but the dark letters that spell out ‘go away’ are still visible and present. Dolion grunts from the strain of leaning over as he stands up, rough and callus hands shaking slightly as he opens his door. As he walks into his small kitchen I hesitate at the entrance, my tongue flicking at the air as I weigh my choices. I hear an old and strained cough from inside his house, and decide I’m better off outside. As I make my way out of the brush that lines the edge of the clearing I glance back, wishing I could speak, just once I could say goodnight. Working myself into a small hole in the side of a tree, I will myself to sleep, comforted by the croaking of frogs and the loud obnoxious snoring from the dust collector of a human.

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Crackling. It’s the first thing I hear as my mind slowly distinguishes reality from a dream, I don’t quite understand what it is, the popping and sputtering sound making for some kind of cursed asmr as my half awake body slowly uncurls itself from its current position.
Where’s Dolion?

My body processes my words before my mind as it starts to drag itself into the clearing. The absences of his snores are a cause of concern as I will myself to go faster. The crackling sound is closer now, and I only just now notice the flickering light and slight increase of heat that grows the closer I get to the cabin.

Time slows down as my head breaks from the foliage, the small twigs scraping at my sides as if they’re trying to hold me back, to shield me from the sight that grazes my eyes. Fire.
I surged forward, my mind in a frenzy the moment I placed a name to the dancing lights that seemed to lap at the front of the house like a giant serpent’s tongue.

Never before had I wished to be a human, to have arms. For my hands to wrap around the handle of the door, fingers bruised and sprained from the force I’d grab the rough wood at. Never before had I wished for legs, so my bare feet could slam against the ground as wild as my heart beat so I could run to Dolion faster than my smooth and feeble body could ever wish to crawl. Forgoing the door that had long since been taken by flames I moved desperately towards the window sill on the other side of the cottage, flames licked at my side, a sharp pain unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my pampered life as I moved with a new found desperation.

A stack of old and poorly made wooden baskets and boxes perched precariously against the side of the wooden hut serves as my saving hope as I stretch my body in a half-thought attempt at scaling it. Splinters break off and dig into the underside of my belly as the crates wobble and creak under me, the fire playing as background music with my heart as the main lead, beating so loudly it almost hurts. I’m on the window sill, smoke and condensation fog up the glass but I can still see Dolion inside, asleep on a worn down cotton bed with the covers tucked tightly around him, a small frown the only sign of discomfort. I have barely a second to feel relieved before I see the flames flickering under his bedroom door.

Never in my life had I ever wished to be human, the race in itself disgusted me. They’re brainlessness and selfish desire was all the reason I needed to hate them. But in this moment, as I watched the flames dance like hell’s own performers closer and closer to the sleeping man I had come to cherish, I wanted nothing more than to be one of them.

To be able to scream, yell so loud the mountains would crumble and the rivers would shake. The kind of yell that’s so authentic and heartfelt that film director’s cut it from the final movie. The kind of yell that reminds humans of everything they’ve lost, tooken, or stolen. That kind of scream that would rip at my vocal cords and mark me as one of the grieving. I wish I could save him like he did me so many times, but as I watch the flame lick at the carpet of his bedroom I wish even more I could cry. To release the wave of anguish that built itself up inside me, my own form of silent torture.