Chatterbox: Inkwell

SOLO WRITE PT 1. GIVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS. PT 2 WILL COME SOON.

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She walks by the water, her
spirit reaching out.

  
It reaches and reaches, trying to grasp the salty water in its ghostly
fingers, but never close enough. A voice calls from the water, but the noise of
the city, the pollution, the unnatural, vile, man-made creations stifle it and
snuff out its flame.

 
She wishes and wishes, wishing
the noise away, wishing her useless human fingers away. In her mind, she is
lithe and strong, and twists through the water like a flickering flame, never
tiring, ever playing.

  
Come, come, the voice whispers. Enter the water. Join us. The
whispers of many voices reach her ears, and a trickle slips from her eye and
streaks down her face. She wants to enter. But she is still looking back, still
wondering whether to look forward, to wander instead of wonder.

  
Come, come, calls the voice. Slip your human skin. Nuta,
nuta, cacunt rita muluk trinak.

  
They speak in a different tongue, in a beautiful waterfall of words. She
closes her eyes, enraptured by the foreign whispers that are truly not foreign
to her. They sound like a melody, like bells ringing, or flutes warbling. She
wants to join them, to slip her skin, to leap into the waves, to be among her
true kin.

  
Come, Miika, come. Come, sister.

  
She squares her slender shoulders. Her loose, flowing dress pools to the
ground. With scarcely a splash she leaps into the water, her skin slipping away
to reveal thick, wild brown fur. Her face is like a full moon, soft and pale
and round and beautiful, seeming to glow as she dances among the dark kelp.

  
Come, come, slip your skin, join your true otter kin.

   Welcome, Miika.