new creature . All I offered up was one fingertip , and when it didn ’ t scuttle away , I touched it . Ran my finger down its scaled back . There was no slime , no residue to keep it slippery . It was still in a way that nothing else in the greenery around my home seemed to be , held a contentment in its sagged throat that I longed to have for myself .
The pipes hold me secure . The rest of me moves in pursuit of the pointed end that leads me through the sog . I accumulate residue , scraping blockage from the innards of the water system and pushing on . It opens out and I continue to fill the space , flowing like a hybrid thing . It takes a long time I think , but eventually I hear the call of nature . I start to smell the forest-dew , and the pipes widen until they reach a gridded opening , water pouring back out into the damp expanse
of this wild place where I was born , and where I will one day die .