Embers break apart, spark.
Nothing.
Again. And again. And a
flame, singeing my hands.
Bright red and black.
Plop-lop from beneath me.
The squid squirms,
not trying to escape, but
not trying to stay either.
Its tentacles merely poke
their tips out of the water.
My eyes settle.
Pitiful thing.
My footsteps tap against the
stalactites and stalagmites,
my coughs bouncing from
one wall to the next.
My lips and throat crunch around the smoke.
Ploup-clo-ap from behind me.
I turn. The poor fucker and
its little condom-shaped head
rise out of the water, standing
on boneless legs, until
it doesn’t. It squishes against the floor,
and lies there,
its slimy, silvery skin pulsating.
My eyes rest on it again.
My steps crunch and clap
around the walls.
I don’t know what I’m
walking into, what the shadows hide,
but the embers just under my nose
show me enough.
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