Otherwhere
Otherwhere
His world slowly reassembles, dominated by sickening swirls of gray-green.
And bright orange spots.
Queasy, and spinning, he grips the earth in waves of nausea.
He is lying prone, cheek mushed into the dirt. The gray-green is grass, he sees; a single ladybug the focus of his attention.
The worst of it is over, it seems.
With the lifting of a misty grip of deathly ill; he is thankful that his mind has already forgotten most of what passed.
He has voided from everywhere, he sees; and he worries at blood spattered hands from coughing and wiping his mouth. The wound there too, is dark, and still painful.
Yet, a flat kind of calm suffuses him; as he rises, rolling to a sitting position. Cross legged, he curves his woozy head around at the world. Taking in the wash of colours and textures.
The grass is patterned, he sees, a shapeless sprawling sprout; which repeats everywhere, larger, and smaller. A formless shape within a shape within a shape.
Everywhere.
And everywhere is undulating, and warping; as though the whole world is slowly breathing.
And all over everything, the same but different shapeless pattern; bigger, and smaller to eternity.
Even in the clouds.
And he can see colours now too.
Revolving, and cascading, from out of the clear blue sky.
He looks across at the serpent, still coiled by the log; and swears the creature is looking back at him, smiling; satisfied.
A feeling of absolute peace overcomes him then, just as the sun breaks through, dousing his face with amber warm light.
Everything is exactly as it should be, he thinks, smiling back at the snake. Why would anyone even bother to think?
The patterns, everywhere, are ever-changing; but coalescing into forms; though it might be his mind.
Faces, and features; evanescent, like bubbles in water.
He feels himself stand up. It’s becoming more difficult to discern the terrain at all; truth be told.
Everything is so illuminated.
But he feels so light; so light as a feather. His limbs feel strangely spongy, but supple. There seems little effort in anything he does.
Always one to do the right thing, he turns one last time to the snake. It remains grinning, as he expected.
“I’m grateful to you, my wise serpent friend.”
He bows.
The snake, perfectly still until now, lifts his its head and appears to sway, slightly; side to side. Before lowering it again, flat to the ground, and slithering away.
The world is so, so beautiful, he thinks.
And without pause he wanders aimlessly into the woods.