The water pulls at me , lamenting the years we have spent longing for one another . It asks me where I have been for so many years . As way of an apology , I move down towards the tap end of the bathtub : when I brush against the metal , I hear a hiss but do not feel a singe . I have known no love quite like the love the wetness has afforded me , and I revel in the way that water slops around my reckless movements . I have to steer myself away from distraction , bend myself in the direction of purpose , else I might swirl and unfurl right here until the water is cold and the perfect moment has passed me by . With great focus , I feel around the rim of the plughole , assessing its diameter . I am satisfied with the width , so I pull the stopper and extend the tip of one of my countless new appendages down into the gap . Encouraged by its warmth , I start to pulse my way forth . Bit by bit , I push myself into the pipes .
For a long time , I had wondered why , if all those things lurking out in the woods and living in the dark were so terrible , they had never descended on us in the way my superstitious family had threatened . No demon had ever come knocking on my walls , and the dogs that howled did so with an honesty that I had never heard in a human voice . The insects of the flood were good company , putting on shows with their speedy wings and hovering nearby so I was never as alone as I felt . The first time I touched a lizard , it felt different to everything I had expected . I ’ d walked out onto the porch to watch over my kingdom of moisture , and it was sat , taking shelter from the rain in the small dry patch below the rattan bench . I crouched , slow as I had learnt to go when approaching a