I floated in the inky depths
The liquid sludge clinging,
Staining me to a shade of
Blackness just barely lighter
Than the color of the sludge.
I had been trying to swim up
For ages, or what felt like ages,
In the timeless blackness.
I know I never moved, my
Hair always floated upwards.
Had I moved it would have
Hung down around my face
In the current my upward
Progress would have created.
I thought I was stuck in the
Ink forever, I could not go
Up or down, or move.
Then I felt something,
A soft touch at my ankle
Barely indistinguishable
From the cling of the ink.
When I looked down I saw
A hand, just barely lighter
Than the sludge, yet even
Slightly darker than I.
I was lonely and bored
In the sludge and thought
Even if pulling the hand
Did drag me down farther
It was better than being
All alone in the darkness.
So I bent down in the ink
And grabbed the hand and
Pulled, my hair drifted up
As I was pulled down, but I
Saw the other's hair, being
Pulled down, so I knew that
The other was moving up.
We met about middle.
The other was so black
from being in the ink that
I felt the need to kick and
Move us farther up, to where
The ink was not so black.
The other helped and
We moved up together slowly
Our hair pulled down instead of up.

05/12/2007

Author's Note: For Breo, who helped me swim up when I thought there was no up, or down.

Posted on 05/12/2007
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