The Crawler

Months after the fall, she crawled out of the abyss. Like a mutating slug, evolving from the muck.  The last time she had seen the surface her eyes had been searching for the stars, gazing up  at the ceiling of amassed, burning gas. Reaching out over millions of miles, the fire of the ember lights had inflamed her desire to grasp them, and she had done, but only to miss her footing  in her attempt and fall fathomless depths into the suctioning ooze.

For an eternal moment she had fought and struggled with the dark, until, unable to break free of the clawing goo, she surrendered her soul to the suffocating nothing that held her; a sensation-less grip that sunk into her bones and began to mutate her. Finally, on the very day she had become content with the abyss, she was freed to crawl out of it.

Onto the surface of the earth, once more she was. But so consumed and transmuted by her fall that, though she had longed to see the sky in its haze of heavenly lights, she could not stand it. The plush soil and foamy grasses cut into her skin like knives, for the gelatinous ooze had so weakened her flesh. Although she tried to cleanse herself of the dark, the smell clung to her, and her morphed shape would not but show her plight to the world. No longer could she reach out to the stars that laughed above her head; taunting her and beckoning to her to join them in their romantic home above the mortals. No longer was their light a glory, but rather, they burned her head with shame. So she no longer looked up, but crawled, crown bowed low; deformity’s crooked gate bending her like a reed. Until she became like the earth, and was once more enveloped by the night of the abyss.

For she had reached to the heavens, but in doing so saw not where she stepped.


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