Black Dog

Moving through something thick and dense -- like honey, but not sweet. Slightly salty, like the taste of skin. Pushing through with my arms, my legs, my torso, leaning into it with my shoulders, legs quivering as they try to take one more step forward.

As I drown in the oppressive weight of movement, people walk past me, through me, into my path, and I am the tanker, too slow, too heavy, to change course. They seem startled if their hand brushes mine. Slowly slowly, as they zip by. 'Yap yap yap' their voices squeak, and they do not see me. Like a mountain that moves in time so great that it is imperceptable, they skip around me.

My head turns slowly, dragged by the viscosity, the dense, dense bubble that separates me from them. Dripping, oozing, threatening to set and permanently encase me in an invisible tomb.

A family of five walks towards me, arm in arm they spread across the path, and I am left with no option, but to disappear.