Work Text:
My feet enter the pond, and the water delays its reaction. The world is on hold; there’s simply too much to go around. Could this experience be universal? The water is cold. It refreshes me and hurts me. Could it be warm for me? I’m desperate to sink, so I walk deeper. The fish can’t swim away, so they don’t.
I reach deep inside of the water, the surface tension never breaking under my touch. It feels thick and thin at the same time. I take hold of a clam, admiring the way the water droplets roll off of its shell. None of the water droplets have touched my skin.
I trace a finger across the ridges of the small animal, reveling in the way it doesn’t register my presence. I caress the slit of its shell, teasing my fingernail across it. My knees buckle from the cold, and I fall in the water, yet it doesn’t splash. This observation bothers me, so I dip the delicate creature in the water, fascinated by how the water breaks around it, molding itself, ripples running across it in reaction to the foreign object.
I pull it out, inspecting how droplets once again roll off. My own tears drop, and for a second I thought I’d seen them landing on the mollusk. They didn’t. It’s as if my eyes never released said tears in the first place; as if I was the only one aware of the burning. Frustrated by the animal’s peculiarity in having the environment acknowledge its existence, I slam it against a rock. Nothing happens, so I slam it again. The shell is perfectly intact.
A strangled sob leaves my throat, and I bite my lip to hold back more. Blood spills from where my teeth dug themselves into, and all of what I’ve tried to contain spills out. The raw cries that escape don’t interfere with the silence of the forest. The leaves rustle just the same, the soft breeze rattling the bushes, the rare pigeon landing near the pond to take a sip. Nothing changes.
Desperation boils inside of me, and I roughly push my fingers on the clam’s opening, prying it open forcefully. It finally reacts. A twisted smile forms on my face, as I finally open it with a small snap. Inside lies a small pearl, but it doesn’t pique my interest. The feeling of conquering existence and forcing this innocent creature to see me does. Finally, I laugh. I can feel its pain. It’s akin to an intense betrayal. I pay no mind to the churning in my stomach and pull at the flesh inside of the hard shell, pieces of it ripping off and settling in my fingernails. The depraved act stains me more than its blood, though I don’t stop for the shame.
As soon as I’m done mangling it, I toss it to the side, eyes locking onto the pearl that falls off and rolls away. There is nothing left of life there, now. The realization of what I’ve done hits, numbing me to my core. The forest stills and there is no longer any wind. The leaves don’t rustle, and the pigeons don’t come back. The water doesn’t ripple, and the pearl doesn’t move. It’ll never move again.
There is nothing left to feel; I caused too much of it. I stole it all for myself until there was nothing left to go around. I look to the sky and hope that the rain falls, for being embraced by the cold water was much better than not being embraced at all.