The Paxmatikus (A Short Story)

The Paxmatikus       

Alira Cohen

    The creature is not good at swimming. It has no gills, and its many limbs are not suited for carrying it through a body of water. The unblinking eyes that line the back of its swan-like neck sting when making contact with liquids; they burn when they cry. There are no fins on the creature’s body. 

    Still, I’ve seen a paxmatikus attempt to get itself to the other side of a running ravine. There were no rocks protruding from beneath the water for it to stand on, no fallen trees that could’ve possibly served as a bridge for crossing. Its plentiful twig-like limbs propelled its small body forward–it took a leap of faith. Its feet left the security of the green grass it was standing on as it plummeted into the water. I watched it kicking, thrashing, crying, groaning. Eventually it began to find its way. My eyes observed its every movement from the bushes in pure fascination. 

    Its fourteen thin legs battled the water, soon allowing it to gain some control. In the same instance, it was straining to keep the round eyes on the back of its neck dry. The black-rimmed eyes on its face, however, closed as the water pushed against them. As it straightened itself out preparing to swim forward, its long sharp snout made it look like an arrow. It was a sight to behold, a vision that touched my heart, to see such a weak thing fight. For a moment, a light inside was rising, becoming a touch warmer. I could feel a hope in me that I thought I’d lost. 

    I won’t soon forget what came crashing from beyond the brush. To this day I can’t tell you what they call that beast in the land from whence it came, but when my frightened eyes fell upon it, I could only know it as Death. A true predator, there was a jagged black tooth for every corner of its swollen gums. It stood upright with impeccable posture, but when it had to give chase, it bent down and ran on four long limbs. Its muzzle was puggish but powerful, its build sleek and lean. I sat humbled by the tragedy of broken perfection that was its presence. Its face, from what I can picture now, was a mess of swirls. It stopped and stood upright just to watch its prey struggling from a distance. I couldn’t tell if there were fins on its body; all the same I knew, as I’m convinced I saw its devilish grin. I felt the knot in my soul telling me: “It can swim just fine.” 

    And from that day, my spirit remains twisted, because it was something I couldn’t ever escape. It was the horror of how the smaller being had struggled and strained in the water, not managing to get far in the end, where the predator, with a few powerful strides and a snap of its jaws, colored the ravine red.