Issues of Great Depth
Jonah liked to sleep six feet below the surface. This was a personal preference, his stated choice. It was cooler there during the summertime, he felt refreshed by the moisture and shade. Besides, there was little to recommend the world of bees and corrosive rain-fall. Still, from time to time he’d rouse himself; make a point to see the world. It wasn’t something Jonah particularly enjoyed, but the experience kept him grounded.
Abundant space unsettled him the most. He could find no security in the wasteland and so Jonah walked. He walked, expecting boundaries, or an ending, but could find nothing. He walked, pushing grass into the earth, feet dragging. He walked away the skin of his feet, scraping the flesh above his toenails into pulp. He walked, even as the heat burned his skin, even after birds had pecked his clothing into tatters.
It was not like this, six feet below the surface. There he was rooted, found peace. Below the surface Jonah smiled, comforted as warm peat shifted, massaging open sores and growth flourished. Cool mud curled around the base of his neck and sucked him downwards. Strong roots, feeding tendrils of life itself sat snug over either shoulder, making his generational departures nearly impossible.
There was nothing to find outside of his hole. There were only harsh words, fear, masses appalled by his green-gray flesh and mongrel dogs nipping at the folds in his skin. Years asleep had drawn Jonah gaunt, had pulled his skin tight to the bone, but in his travels Jonah had collected welts. Now, as he walked, he did so as a rock, with creases and cracks and bits of moss dangling from each fissure.