a collection of allegorical stories —
by Cloie Wyatt Taylor
Part I
The girl did not go to the water’s edge, but stood a good distance back. Patiently. Quietly. Waiting. For what? She was unclear, however, she knew that something was coming. A distant thumping told her that the monster wasn’t far off, but it felt safe enough for her to relax. For a moment. She inched her toes forward in the sand, allowing them to stretch and find their full grip. How good the sand always felt - soft, but supportive, warm even when cool, and with the kiss of a million butterfly wings...much like the kiss of a mother. Or so she imagined. She had not had a mother since the “time before” and everything was different now. She was different now.
She decides to sit. Not the easy, thoughtless decision of times gone by, but a purposeful one. The days of taking anything for granted were behind her, replaced with the knowing that life, in and of itself, was a luxury. She had come so close to death and now she was tired. It was that simple. So, she decides to sit, tucking her rags underneath her as she does so. She smooths the remains of her dress methodically, almost trance-like, savoring the feel of the cloth beneath her fingers. It felt rough, but she knew it to be HER rough...and that was good. She wonders how she got here, so far from home and with nothing but this ocean and its bottomless depths to keep her company. She sighs. There is something soothing in that thought.
A memory stirs - a vision from long ago, cast in new light: a kitchen, a scream, a flash...and then the sound of running water. Always running water. “Enough.” She says quietly to herself, standing as she does so, sensing the familiar stirrings of “the thing” in the pit of her stomach. The snake was back, Greeph. Returning, as he always did when the memory surfaced. He coils his way through her insides, her body tightening with every hiss. She begins the process of assignation, the only way to ease the pain. This has been her practice whenever the snake comes to call - the game of words. Always words. The categorization of things and sensations so that they fit into neat little boxes, safe, secure, contained, and easy to identify. When the snake is asleep, the girl finds that she loves this game - she loves to play Adam, assigning the “things”. Never resting as she collects and categorizes her museum of sensation and understanding. Now was not one of those times. //