tofi's trail

He'd just been picking flowers. Really, that was all he'd been doing. There was a meadow that grew all the way into the water. Israh knew the flowers belonged to the humans living in the house that probably belonged to the meadow, but it had been night-time, and he'd assumed they were asleep, since the regular wake-hour lamps were off.

He'd been wrong, and he'd ended up dragged higher into the meadow, where he was stopped from thrashing by ropes snared around his wrists and tail, catching him between a tree and some round metal tool that was attached to a boulder, in the middle of the meadow.

The group of humans stood conversing amongst themselves, phones in their hands and artificial lights shining down on Israh. Strange, choppy, clicking sounds came from those phones, and occasionally another light flashed from them. Israh had already given up on thrashing, peering over his shoudler instead at the group, warily watching them.

The ropes were digging uncomfortably into his wrists and tail fin, but that didn't matter when he saw a a hand being raised with a belt in the fist. He started to once again struggle, trying to avoid the lash- the belt landed sharply against his upper back, and he let out a pained cry. He heard laughter coming from above.

More than one human held a belt, and at first, the strikes were erratic, making Israh unable to predict when the next one would fall. His body shook with the strain of the unpredictability, his muscles tensing and relaxing, as he tried and failed to guard against the blows. But after a while, there was a certain rhythm to the whipping, and Israh tried to tense when he knew each strike would fall.

Perhaps he shouldn't have, because as he focused and adapted, Israh didn't cry out in pain as much. He vaguely heard someone ask ... something.. of another, and a murmured answer that he couldn't properly hear. Israh's breathing was hard, lungs stinging from the lack of water in them, but he didn't have time to focus on that, only on the pain.

The pain that blossomed, sharp and hard, drawing another loud yell from him. That laughter. The very audible voice saying, "See, makes it squeal again, right?" Despite the ringing that suddenly filled Israh's ears. The belts fell slack for just a moment, but even in that brief window of respite, Israh didn't have hope that it would stop. They wanted to hear his pain, after all. He saw a belt buckle fall into the field of his vision, just before the lashes started up again.

It wasn't long before Israh could smell blood in the night air, mixing with the sweet fragrance of flowers. He would have cried if he could have. The pain was immense, burning hot. It was too difficult to struggle, when the oxygen took up so much space and the pain flooded his systems.

How long was it that they went at it? Hours? Maybe more, maybe less. An eternity. Israh lay limp on the meadow as they left him there, the morning sun starting to creep up over the horizon. Israh felt sticky, weak, and like a prisoner. Hopefully, they'd leave him to rest, then maybe he could free himself and drag himself back into the water. Hopefully, his body would allow him that.

Like The Salmon Playing With The Stars 4