The Prophecies Spoke of This

By Hannah Davelman '16

The prophecies spoke of this.

Below the ice, pitted and melted where the raindrops have struck, the water, dark as ink, protects its own. Shadows whip across its surface, and the timid sun hides all but the briefest glimpse of the silt below. A bloated mouth opens to swallow any tiny, unfortunate creature in its path.

Far beneath the melting ice, fins and whiskers stir from their long slumber and move, slowly but distinctly, towards the surface of the water. In his house at R’lyeh, the nameless monstrosity of the deep senses, for a moment, a darkness deeper than even its own.

The koi have arisen.

No one can say for certain from whence they came– perhaps from a Wellesley garden pond, or from the depths of hell itself. Nevertheless, they slumber beneath the waves of Paramecium Pond, waiting for spring to arrive, or for the Elder Gods to call them forth to raze the cities of earth to the ground. Whichever comes first.

As the dead of winter loosens its grip and yields to the vaguely less dead Bostonian spring, they wait for the rains that will flood the banks, and bring all life down to their subaquatic kingdom. The installation of an overflow drain has only blunted their ambition. They are patient, and they are old, and they are highly omnivorous. They will flourish in the hot summer sun, which cannot penetrate their golden scales or melt their icy hearts. They have no souls, only the darkness of the Old Ones, which propels them through time, to their destiny. Soon, the ice will return, and the leaves will fall, and they will sink to the mighty deep and wait for the sun among the simpler fish of the pond.

Until the end of time.

From April 2016 issue.