Drown

Word doodle.

 

            Swiped the morning paper from the nearby farm, read a small article. A man was found dead, washed up in the Guille Flowage, clogging the grating against the dam, twigs and seaweed building up around his bloated corpse. Third body found this year. The official police story on the man was the same story they told about the last man—he was drunk, fishing, fell out of his boat and couldn't swim back in, drowned. The first body found belonged to a nameless stripper, part of the throng of migratory strippers who come to town every summer. She didn't need a name, or an official police story. Nobody cared.

 

            I dug the fourth hole next to the door by the trailer. All of my post-hole digging tools were taken, so I had to use a regular spade and eventually a small gardening shovel to dig it down far enough. Four feet. Someday it'd be filled with concrete and supporting a cedar beam, the beginnings of a greater shell around my trailer, or something like that. I wasn't really clear on why I was digging the hole—maybe it was just to burn energy.

 

            I woke up and walked out—almost stumbled into the hole. There were grasshoppers at the bottom, dozens of them. Hopping, scuttling, trying to get out. They were stuck. I went into the woods for the day.

 

            Next morning—woke up, back aching. Walked out—almost stumbled into the hole. There were frogs at the bottom, three of them. They sat in a triangular position in the center, watching each other's backs. The grasshoppers were gone. I grabbed the head of my spade, lay on my stomach and reached as far into the hole as I could. It took forever for me to get the frogs out and on their merry way. I went into the woods for the day.

 

            Next morning—woke up, body aching. Walked out—almost stumbled into the hole. There were three salamanders inside. Two were small, dark blue with light blue speckles, one was large, purple and covered with pale yellow dots. I let them be, said "the hell with the woods," and walked inside.

 

            Cold autumnal rain began pouring outside. I could hear it rapping against the paper-thin metal roof above me, and went to sleep.

 

            Next morning—woke up, the pain subsiding. Walked out—noticed the hole was half full of water. The two small salamanders clutched the wall and kept their heads above the water. The larger one locked its legs to its body and swam in circles like a fish at the top. I lay on the wet and muddy ground, and pulled the two blue salamanders out and released them in the wet grass. It began raining, I went inside, slept.

 

            Next morning—I stood, tired. Hobbled out, looked into the hole. The large salamander was still swimming. I sat by the edge of the hole watching him go around in circles for a week, curious but noncommital. The water level rising slowly. He was starving, I assume, but he kept swimming.

 

            I pulled him out by the tail. Put him on the ground, in the grass, and his body continued to writhe in swimming motion for five seconds—a long time. Then it stopped and was still. Surprised by the ground beneath it. The joints of his legs became apparent as he pulled them away from the sides of his body and began a slow, wobbling walk through the grass and into the forest.

 

            Next morning—swiped the paper from the nearby farm. Another body was found floating up the Guille Flowage.

Author's Note

I don't think there's a point to this. Just a scribbly thing that came out just now.

Reviews

[Hedra Helix]

check this outtie:
boat and couldn't swim back in, drown(ed?/ or is that an artistic shortening? can't tell.).

O i really really really like this pc, critique wise i think that that very first paragraph could be sped up
round abouts here:

The official police story on the man was the same story they told about the last man-he was drunk, fishing, fell out of his boat and couldn't swim back in, drown. The first body found belonged to a nameless stripper, part of the throng of migratory strippers who come to town, work in trashy bars and entertain trashy tourists every summer. She didn't need a name, or an official

[Hedra Helix]

sweet;) hey owen, whats a coelacanth? prehistoric something?

[Hedra Helix]

Dude, that I love. Blue salamanders, awesome image. Your thought pattern is weird;) cool but weird.
s**t, but who am i to talk? hah.

if it was so easy to catch stuff, dig a hole and leave it, ya should have had tonz of food!