Swampthing

The swamp is familiar. No, more than that, the swamp is safe. Born of water and algae and filth, Abyssalon is as much a part of the swamp as it is a part of him. He doesn’t know what cells are, but if he did, he’d probably call himself a pond cell or a little plankton, swimming through an endless stream of green, green pond water. That could be home forever. Do plankton ever think about leaving? Do plankton ever think about what’s beyond the mire? Do they have friends who pull things out of their hair like monkeys or seasuns that like to bask on their heads like lily pads? Probably not, no. Not at all.

It’s been a long time since Abyssalon has last seen his beloved swamp. Everything is bright and dry and foreign out here on the land and he gets more than a few strange looks, though he’s not entirely sure why, because he never got strange looks before. Then again, there were no eyes to look at him before. Apart from Kelby.

That’s the one comfort in all of this: through it all, Abyssalon always has Kelby. There’s Juno too, of course, but they’re constantly making him do things that he doesn’t want to do, like putting on clothes or talking to people or even shaking hands. Why do people shake hands? Surely it’s just another opportunity to pull them beneath the surface of the water, except he’s not in the water, and people on land don’t really think about drowning very often, at least according to Juno.

Sometimes, he just wants to go back and forget about this whole world. He was happier in his little puddle of a home with only Kelby to talk to and his trusty lures wrapped like bracelets around his arms, shiny and pretty and good for catching fish. But there are some things that can’t be taken back and some things that can’t be forgotten, like the sunrise in Sor Solir or the deep, deep darkness of nothingness, dropping off into the blackest of pits. And he can’t forget Juno’s smile — that’s what they’re called, right? Smiles? — when he gets something right. He smiles too, sometimes, and it’s like he’s not even in control of his face.

He didn’t know he could do that before he left. Even if he went back now, would he be the same Abyssalon who used to hide in the depths of the swamp as hunters trudged on by, one with the fish and pondscum? It’s hard to say. Juno would probably say no.

Actually, it’s not just sometimes. He wants to go back all the time. He’ll kick and he’ll scream and he’ll drop to the ground like dead weight, wailing until the sun goes down, but some part of him knows that it won’t be the same. It never will be. His eyes got adjusted to the light, and even if he went back to the darkness, he’d never really be what he was before. No, not what — who, that’s what Juno says, because he’s not a thing, he’s a person. And that means he can’t go back to being a thing. Becoming a person might be irreversible, and isn’t that a scary thought.