Bury Me Shallow

I woke this morning fit to burst, what a waste that would’ve been. Thrashing, as if I could escape. As if I’d want to. Pain. Clawing, carving. My ribs flay open of their own accord. I trace the shape of the wounds with curious strokes. Gills, it seems. To sink below the murky shallows, and not return. 

A blanket of leaves covers the untrodden earth, yet the mud still squelches between my webbing toes. An ache blooms in my stomach, though I have gorged myself on the soured offerings of the forest. My fingers, berry-stained, match my lips. The raw flesh of my torso pulsates as I move. Mutating. Despite the decay, I am flourishing.

What could I have been, I wonder. As the woman I was. Would I have become a mother? It doesn’t matter now, I am eager to be what I shall become, at the water’s edge. I am monster, not maiden.

Bramble and briar lash at my skin, leaving ribbons of red. Blood beads on my flesh, but I won’t be deterred. I bunch the fabric of my nightgown into my muddied and bloodied fists, and my feet run faster. Twigs snap. Bones crack.

I burst through the thicket, lift my arms and turn. Tumbling backwards. My eyes close. Sharpened teeth bared in a blood-stained grin. My back breaks the surface of the lake first. 

And I sink. Dragged below.

The water devours what is left of the woman.