Dr Abel

Under the water, everyone was the same. A shadowy torso, arms and legs that move too slowly, clumsy thrashing like infants, clouds and bubbles scattering as they bob between the competing pressures to float and be sucked down, faces blurred and puffy, so serious. You’d think they were trying really hard, except that they aren’t really going anywhere. Leaking from pores in their skin, from tiny lesions and larger orifices, you can smell them an hour away. My sisters gather, circle, stare; we’ve never really figured out what they’re doing here. Not that it matters. Now everyone’s here, we feed.