Sorty

we came through the light tunnel back into the forest. camouflaged in colours and twigs, the sounds of twigs snapping melding with the rain and wind. creeping low we made our story. the enemy squished his heels in deep and we spoke in their tread. wheels of light filling the holes, pinning leaves to our green faces, we were barking. a bird guided us into a cave and showed us a shot of quartz. dunked in a pint of blood we sucked it for images. it grew into tongues too long through for the throat. we tried to swallow but it got lodged. we nearly suffocated, and with the effort came a song, not unlike the bird at first, but growing worse. we went deeper in, armed with scales. the light threw animals round the cave; mechanisms. in the centre is where the imagination of the surface is reformed. we found the computer glowing blue, a pool. letters twitched over the screen. we drank, dipping our hands in a praying dive. there is no gravity in the cave, liquid pools in jelly forms and can be bitten like an apple, or fully opened eyes. she stood before us in white with transparency. a figure from an album - all cliches combined - a cradle, long hair, large eyes, hips dancing. her head hovered an inch above our shoulders. it drifted towards us and kissed each one. the body made gestures, throwing shadows on the walls, angering the animals. the cave begins to melt like skin streaming off bone. the forest appears around us again. now we had eyes and hearts, voices with tongues and a story to tell. each insisted on a different song. some held the head was carried on a string, others by a skunk, still more by a crocodile, only visible from one perspective. each insisted on their own truth for fear of being suckled back into the cave. in this way language was born.