Still and Moving

A piece of fiction, to a degree

“Her clothes spread wide, And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death.” — Photo by Cynthia Smith on Unsplash

When you’re alone in the dark for a long time, many thoughts will flood your mind and vie tirelessly for your attention. Your schedule is packed.

That’s how it was for me anyway.

I never knew how how long I’d been [illegible]. Long enough for the floor holding me to begin to feel incorporeal.