By Way Of An Apology

Contributed by Matthew Hartwell on 22/11/08

The creak and grinding of the gravelly flesh beneath its rocky hide made me shudder.

When I was four, I fell into the pond behind the barn. My father had found me, and fished me out. I remember so little from those years now, but I can not forget what it was like, water in my lungs, unable to move, cold on the shore.

It stood there. It was certainly watching me, as it had for all of my life.

Had it come to care for me, like a parent fondly watching a child pass the markers that led to adulthood? Had it watched my father with similar pride? Or, more likely, did it hate us? Envy can turn even a happy heart to loathing.

What terror, to be trapped, be it me, in the shallow waters I should not have gone near, or it, in its crystallized skin. To see all. To hear all. To be asked if you were alright, and be unable to respond.

After pounding the broad of my back with his palm, my father says I coughed and vomited water. I’m told I threw up an impressive amount for such a small frame. My second chance was a gift.

It’s alive. That much we’re sure of. You can press your ear against the stone, and it’s warm to the touch. Inside, it twitches, and the beating of a great heart sounds like the breaking of boulders.

My father said it was there when his father settled the farm. Before then, there was a village here, but it had burned to the ground one night, long before. The ash and remains made for good soil. And nobody else wanted to be near the thing.

Sometimes at night, I go out and sit with it. Even if it’s a monster, it deserves company, and I am growing old, and have no wife. Was it a spell that captured it thus? A disease of the skin? Was it always like this, or was it once more human? Was it related to the disappearance of the village? I ask it, sometimes, but get no reply. There is, of course, one question I haven’t asked yet, as I already suspect the answer, and the shame it brings for my race cripples me.

What if it hadn’t come in anger, arms raised in rage?

What if it was building something?