The Water Man and the Weeping Mother

A lot of times, most mythical creatures didn’t know how they came into being. It wasn’t much different for Otsuteru, whose mysterious designation he had always kept, regardless of origin, or age, or meaning.

It was sudden, just one day, one morning, consciousness hit him like a large stone, and he saw himself, awake, cold and wet. Knowing, too, that many days before that day had gone by, and knowing that he had experienced many things under both thin and thick foliage, both dense and clear water. He had seen others, alike and different, and he had never stopped to open his dark eyes and take in his surroundings, regardless of where he was. And he knew he had traveled near and far – even though he never knew clearly where he was, for he had no map or home, he just had night and day and necessity.

When he saw himself, he saw that he was natural, wet and cold. There was an option, a choice, and suddenly taking a decision never seemed like such a heavy act. Taking consciousness, seeing himself, made his surroundings seem colourful and full, overflowing.

The decision was heavy.

Otsuteru could choose to cycle air through his lungs, or not.

He felt his chest expand as he took in air, opting for the first hypothesis. He took in air and all its components, and he felt them deep within his translucent frame. Breathing out came unnoticed, but also just as fascinating as the intake had been.

If it was a human’s task to classify this creature’s mind, the human being would call it scientific. Otsuteru confirmed, like so, scientifically, that the air was clear. Clear just like the light he felt, that also felt warm, pass through him, like the water that was part of him, and like all the busy, balanced, calm life that circled him, inside, outside; everywhere, it seemed.
It was day time. Creatures were nearby, he noted, the rustling of leaves speaking to his senses. Perhaps humans; certainly humans, he reminded himself that he should be wary of them. That it was crucial that they should not see his form or face. That for a human, he was simply part of a darker side of their breed, a side that was rarely explored, and seen as something to be feared.

And as he saw himself, conscious, finally, he saw himself afraid, anxious, feeling his body finally breakable in half, but, overall…

As he moved forward, arms reaching out for the muddy surface of the edge of the lake – overall; - between the reeds and spiked, hard grass circling the body of water he belonged in, he felt an absolute and unforgiving feeling of curiosity.

And he was entirely aware, that being the possessor of curiousity of this kind, - not really because of what he was and how the human creatures would react to his presence – would hurt him. But he had to know why, even though he had a feeling that he ultimately would be rejected.

Why did he fear this feeling of rejection? He was not superior or inferior to the humans. Why did he fear the humans, then…?

To understand himself better, for the sake of that one truth he craved more than anything, he felt his body solidify, take shapes similar to those who were nearby. Reaching into humanity, Otsuteru rose up and stepped for the first time into the soft grass beyond the edge of the lake, leaving a wet trail behind him.