Mulligan

—an excerpt—

Vivian dropped to her hands and knees, examining the array of colours displayed before her; blacks and yellows, and auburn ones she’d not seen before, cloaked with a sheen of large black freckles. Turning towards the undergrowth, Vivian tracked the army of slimy slugs eastward, until she reached the raised edge of the inlet. There stood, or rather leant, the old insectarium, a forgotten casualty from Before. Arthritic shore pine branches entwined the slanted wooden structure in a crushing embrace; a dim amber light flickered through nautical porthole windows, glazed over with grime.

Vivian was vaguely aware that the forest had been reclaiming abandoned infrastructure since before her parents’ disappearance; it was less evident in rural areas like the coastal pacific town she called home. She tiptoed down the hill, shuddering with each squishy step, yet unable to stop herself. The sea of surging gastropods had multiplied underfoot and were clambering (slowly) over one another, pulsating in a massive single heartbeat.