Running Along the Fringe of Sanity

An ocean of hands reached up, blindly grasping. Fingers bent and straightened rhythmically. Except for some splashes of red, the nails growing out of the fingers were clean and uniform. Occasionally one hand would find another and they would wrestle violently. The loser would sink back into the pale depths, while the winner would continue the hunt. I had no desire to find out what lay below the surface.

“Anyone have any ideas?” I asked, looking back at the rest of the group.

The five that were still with me shook their heads in silence. I could tell that they were shocked and disgusted by the scene before us. I could barely believe it myself and that was after seeing that fleshy, legged thing swallow Pete whole.

Beth’s quiet murmur greeted me as I moved back away from a shoreline that resembled locks of hair more than sand.

“It’s not right.” Beth was talking but her eyes were vacant. “Nothing’s right.”

We were lost in more ways than one. Running, without knowing where we were or where we were going.

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