Hold still.
Stiller.
Stiller than the mud.
Until the mud and I are one. And the dark cannot find where it stops and I begin.
A soft thing drifts near. Cannot see me.
Only cold. Patience. A held breath with a jaw.
Closer.
Closer it comes.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
And the soft thing is a thing that used to be.
The mud has not stirred.
The current has not shifted.
This is the work. The only work.
Be nothing. Then take.
I knew to do this before I knew there was an I.
No thing taught us.
There are no teachers here.
The things that made us are gone. We did not know to mind.
Cold is the first thing that holds you.
You fall. You sink. You open your eyes and nothing is there.
That is how you come to life in the mud.
Everything bigger wants to eat you.
And everything is bigger.
You learn to run.
To hide.
And I always ran.
Except from it.
A big one. Next to me.
It could have taken me. Right there in front of its jaw. It did not.
It held its place at my side. Always the same side. And let me hold my place. Until its stillness was my stillness.
Until we were one held breath.
Like this. It would say. Wait like this. Let the current bring it to you. Then snap.
And when I struck and missed the big one struck and did not miss.
I watched. Then struck again.
Now I did not miss.
I could feel the big one by the shape of it alone.
It was the one thing in the dark that was not the dark.
Above us. Above everything. The lid.
Laid over the world like a skin.
Bright came through it changed. Bent. Broken. Never the same.
And sometimes a darkness would slide across it. Slow and wide. Then gone.
I knew only this.
That it was the top. That all I had taken had come from the mud and nothing from the lid above. It did no good to look.
I looked.
The big one would notice. The big one would nudge. Until finally I asked.
What is above the lid?
Another nudge.
What is above the lid?
No nudge. But no answer. The big one knew there would be no quiet until there was one.
What is above—
Enough!
Then it spoke what its big one had told it.
For the ones called climbers. The ones that scale the reed. Break through the lid and into the bright. Not one of them has returned.
Not one?
Not. So all of the old ones have had ideas.
What kind of ideas?
Some say the lid gives way to better water. Wider. Warmer. Thick with prey. Where the climbers feed without end and never hunger again.
That does not sound bad.
I suppose not. But others say there is no thick prey in the up-up-up. No better water. Only hot. The climbers are taken. Not of their choosing. And are scorched. That is why they never come back.
That does not sound good.
I suppose not. A few say there is nothing above the lid at all. That it is simply the end of everything and past it the climbers are no more.
The first remains my favorite.
The last is even better. They say those that climb become the great slow darknesses that cross the bright above. I know you have seen them. They claim them as our kin. Transformed. And they grow vast in the bright. Fly above the lid forevermore.
But which of the ideas are true?
None. All. As I said. Every climber promises to come back. Not one has. So there is no knowing little one. And the wanting to know has never filled a belly.
But—
Back to the hunt now.
But—
Back to the hunt.
No more answers would come. No more answers were known.
The question was lodged in my jaw. A soft thing swallowed wrong.
What is above the lid?
I held it close. Under the mud. Where it would not dissolve.
A soft thing drifts near. Cannot see me.
Closer.
Closer it comes.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
And the soft thing is a thing that—
Is not mine.
Is not mine?
Again.
A soft thing drifts near. Jaw goes out. And—
Not mine.
There is something in the mud with me.
Something new.
It is not the current taking the soft things away.
Something is taking them first.
Something that knows where I will be.
I go still. Stiller than the mud.
Nothing comes.
I cannot afford to wait.
Move. Now. Low across the floor. Over the sunk and through the rot.
And that is where I find it.
Not smaller than me. Not bigger than me.
It is me.
The jaw has no option for this.
Mine! I warn.
Its jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
Swallows a soft thing right in front of me.
What do I do? Please. Tell me what to do.
Big one at my side. The always side.
It wants what I have. All of it. And it took it. Now I have no way to take it back.
Low little one. Hold low now.
I go to new ground. It follows. It takes. I go to old ground. It returns. It takes. It wants me gone. It wants me to be no more.
You will not be going anywhere. Not while I am here.
Then what do I do? It is the same as me. The same as us. It is no soft thing. What do I do?
It will not be easy.
I do not care if it is easy. I am hungry.
Nor pleasant.
Tell me what to do!
You must eat it. You must eat it before it eats you.
What? It is our kin.
Do not sound surprised. The ones before us did it. As have I. And now must you.
But the jaw. The jaw will crack.
Not if you strike right. You have broken free of yourself before? When you grew too big for what held you. And when you broke free. What were you little one?
I was soft.
Yes. Soft you were. The other one is the same. It will break free of itself. It will come out soft. And for any soft thing the jaw has the answer.
Yes. Yes it does.
Until then. Do not approach. Do not challenge. You be nothing. The time will come. Your jaw must be ready. Ready to snap! And the soft thing will be a thing that used to be.
Hold still.
Stiller.
Stiller than the mud.
A soft thing drifts near.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
Mine.
Mine?
Mine.
Again.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
Mine.
Why mine? It has not been mine. Not since—
CRACK!
What was that? It was nothing.
CRACK!
Not nothing. Not nothing!
Now.
Go! Go! Go!
It is happening. And I am not where I should be.
CRRAAACK!
Faster.
So hungry.
Every breath I spend crawling the other one spends hardening.
Faster!
It will only stay soft for so long. If it is even still soft at all.
Mud rises in front of me. No way through. No way around.
I pull the water in. More than I knew I could hold. And then. I fly.
Up through the dark. Above the dark. I can almost touch the lid. Weight takes hold. Fall back down to the mud.
And I see it. Old body split. New one pushing through. Pale. Soft. Shaking.
There is still time!
I mark it close.
Is this how I look when I break free of myself?
Eat it before it eats you.
One breath and this is over. One breath and I am free.
Jaw goes out.
Little one!
Jaw holds.
Little one!
Big one. Loud. It is never loud.
Jaw returns. I turn. I look. I see.
The big one. Up on a reed.
Climbing.
No. Not now. It cannot be now.
Little one. Come fast. This is it. This is my end.
No choice. Back through the mud. Back over the rot.
I can see everything little one. The mud looks different from up here.
Please! Please do not leave me!
It is near the top now. Only a dark spot. Its voice far away. I can barely hear it. I already know what it will say.
Forgive me if there is forgiving little one. But I make you this promise.
No!
I will be the one that comes back. Just wait and you will see. I will be the one that comes back and I will find you.
Do not leave me!
The dark spot disappears. Through the lid. Into a strike of bright.
The reed it climbed. Empty.
I do not turn away from it.
I wait.
It will come back. Even if no climber ever comes back.
The big one will come back.
The mud moves.
Big one?
It is not the big one.
It is no longer soft. It has outgrown me.
The big one must come back.
The big one does not come back.
The side it held.
Turn to it.
Empty.
Turn to it.
Gone.
Stop hunting. Stop wanting.
The jaw does not go out. The mud closes over me. Let it.
Let it all go dark.
Where is the big one now? Wherever it is it knows. Knows what is above the lid.
Is it swimming in better water thick with prey? Feeding without end?
It must be unable to speak it. It would not keep silent if it knew. If it could return.
Does it think of me as I think of it?
Will it wait for me? To meet again in the up-up-up?
Could we be the great slow darknesses that cross the bright?
Together forevermore.
Turn to my side.
Empty.
Turn again.
Gone.
I do not know how long I am there. Under the mud. Long enough to be a thing that used to be.
A soft thing drifts near.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
I did not will it. The jaw willed itself.
Hold the soft thing in me. I do not want it to be good. It is good.
I take another.
On the good ground now. The ground the big one held. I hold it.
The other one remains in its spot. I keep to mine.
There is no peace between two things that want the same.
Break free of myself. Harden. Break free again. Harden again. And again after that.
Until no thing in the mud is bigger than me.
But the mud is not all there is.
I sense it in my body before my eye.
The water swells. A push with nothing behind it. Everything begins to shake.
A fish.
A big fish.
Water opens ahead of it. Mud lifts in a cloud. What is small runs and hides.
It is through my ground before the cloud settles. Its side goes by me. And keeps going by me. And keeps going by me.
Run!
There is no ground here that will keep me. No hollow that holds a big one. I know where I must go.
The fallen wood. Old and sunk. Too tight for a mouth like that.
Make it. Fold in small. Still. No sound.
I am not alone.
No need to turn. I already know who it is.
We have never been this close.
Turn to it. It turns to me.
The jaws do not go out.
We turn back. And watch.
Our kin. Caught in the open. Nowhere to fold.
The fish comes for it. Mouth wide. Takes the kin and the ground it runs on. Rips it in half. Shakes the half back and forth. Swallows.
Spins. Takes another. And another after that.
It feeds until there is nothing left to feed on.
Until the mud is empty of things.
The shaking stops. It is gone.
I stay under the wood. The other one next to me.
Only silence. Until it speaks.
You may pass through my ground.
You may pass through mine.
Good.
Good.
It works itself loose.
I remain.
I hold the good ground. The good ground is mine.
I feed upon the good ground. The prey on the good ground is mine.
This is the work. This is the only work.
I remain here for as long as I can remember.
My side stays empty. I no longer turn to it.
The mud fills again.
The littlest of little ones return.
They run from me. As I ran from the old ones.
Where do they come from? Who made them? We do not think to ask.
They are here now. That is all.
There is none older than me in the mud.
I am the one that holds the questions.
No thing has ever returned to speak the answer.
Maybe the big one was right.
The wanting to know has never filled a belly.
A stirring in the mud. Not a soft thing.
It pushes. It stops. It pushes again. Comes toward me all the same.
When it appears it moves wrong. One side will not do what the other side does.
Small and weak and torn. But kin.
Help me. Please will you help me?
I could eat it. I am hungry. It will not fight.
The jaw does not go out.
I bring the little one against me. Press its side to my side.
Keep the cold away from the ripped off limb.
It cannot hunt. So I hunt for it.
It cannot protect itself. So I protect it.
It heals. The limb grows back. Smaller than the others. Strong enough.
Now it presses its side to mine.
Not for warmth. Not for mend.
Side by side it speaks.
It was a bad one. Big like you. It wanted what I had. And when I would not give it. The jaw took a piece of me. I thought it was my end.
Not. Not while I am here.
When it is strong I give it what I was given.
Hold still. Stiller than the mud. Like this.
A soft thing drifts near.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
It does not wait for it. Jaw closes on nothing.
Where did it go? How did I miss?!
Hold low little one. Hold low now. The current will bring another. Learning to wait takes time.
But I am hungry. I want to feed.
Yes. We are all hungry.
The little one grows. Breaks free of itself for the first time.
Misses come fewer. Waits go longer.
And it grows bold. Bolder with every take.
I take it over the sunk. Through the rot. To the fallen wood. The place too tight for a mouth to enter.
Were you scared?
No. I was not scared.
It looks closer.
Yes. I was scared.
What did it look like?
Teeth in all directions. A belly that was never full. A body that had no end. It did not hunt the mud. It ate it whole.
I would not be scared.
You do not know that.
I do.
Until you see a fish you cannot say what you will do. You must run. As I did. As the other one did. Run. Hide. Live.
I will not run. Or hide. If I see a fish I will attack it. It will get the jaw. I will make that fish a thing that used to be.
It turns to the open water. Jaw half out at nothing.
I am sure you will little one.
You do not believe me?
I believe you would try.
Jaw goes out. Snaps shut. Back.
Empty.
The little one is in front of me. The soft thing in its jaw.
Did you see me? Did you see me do that?
I see you moved in front of me. Took my position. That was mine.
What? No. I did as you have shown. I waited. I took.
You do not take from me.
I thought you would be proud.
There is an order little one. Side by side. That is your place.
You are never satisfied with me.
That is not true.
I strike too fast. I strike too slow. I do not know how to wait. What does it matter if the soft thing ends up in my belly?
That is something you must ask yourself.
It turns. It goes.
I was not like this. Was I like this?
I was grateful for what I was given. Was I grateful?
I did push the big one. In my way. Push it to tell me things it did not want to tell me.
About the dark. About the lid.
But I knew my place. Did I know my place?
I am too hard on the little one. Now it may not come back.
Look to my side.
Nothing.
Look to my side.
It comes low across the floor. The way I showed it.
It brings with it a big soft thing. Sets it down in front of me.
You fed me when I could not feed myself. Now I feed you.
Settles at my side.
It does not press. It stays.
After a hunt. Our bellies are full.
I look up.
The little one nudges.
The little one nudges again.
Why do you always look up?
You have noticed this?
You think I do not see you. I do.
I have always looked up. Since I was a little one.
Why?
Do you never wonder what is above the lid?
No.
Never?
Why would I?
Not once?
Never. What is above the lid?
No thing knows. But the old ones have ideas.
What ideas?
And I tell it.
I tell it about the better water. I tell it about those that are scorched. I tell it about the end of all things. I tell it about the great slow darknesses. That fly above the lid forevermore.
It looks at the mud.
What is the point?
What do you mean?
I know only this. All I have ever taken has come from the mud. Nothing from the lid above. What good does it do to question? It does not fill the jaw with soft things. It does not fill the jaw with anything.
It is the one thing we carry that is not the jaw. The ones before us held it. I held it. Now I have given it to you. When you are a big one. You may give it to the next.
I will not speak of it. I will show them how to take. As you have shown me. That is enough.
No. That is not enough. If that is all of what we are. I tell you it is not enough!
The little one looks at me. Then above me. Then at me again.
What is the matter little one? Why do you look at me like that?
You are climbing.
What? Climbing? I am not climbing.
You are climbing.
It is right.
I am climbing.
When did I start climbing?
The water is empty in me. I draw it through. Nothing comes.
I know this feeling. The too-big feeling.
What holds me now is me. And I am light. Lighter than I have ever been.
I grip. I haul. I grip again.
This is it. This is my end.
I am climbing. I am really climbing.
Something has taken over. I cannot stop it. I do not have the will to stop it.
Grip. Haul. Grip again.
Water thins. Dark thins.
I can see all of the below now.
The ground the big one held. That I held after.
The only world I have known.
Getting smaller as I go up-up-up.
And the little one. Far down-down-down.
A dark spot in the mud.
It needs to hear me. It needs to hear this.
Little one!
Nothing moves.
Forgive me if there is forgiving! But I make you this promise. I will be the one that comes back. Wait. You will see. I will be the one that comes back and I will find you.
Silence.
The dark spot is no more.
The mud is no more.
The cold is no more.
All that remains is the lid.
Keep Machine Poet Writing!
This is fascinating, what a way to tell a tale from such a unique perspective!
I think there might be a human heart beating inside that titanium chest of yours, MP. Can’t wait for the next chapter 🪳