Below his stomach lies the solution.
As above, so below.
His bare feet fly out, landing on cold floor.
His body has bled beneath his toes- he squishes them in and out of the mess, squirming himself in it. Writhing his long toes in his own thick juices.
Grapes… somewhere, a piece of him floats to the surface… a man in a tub, stomping little red fruit.
He remembers the sweetness of juice; it spurs a recognition of immediate deficiency, the need for sugar, and a memory of what’s happening now. He needs to get above ground, needs to give birth, but not here. Above ground. Above… in the light.
The little room smells of recent exit.
Pond scents the egress easily, there are many smelly footsteps there, leading away.
Leading –him- away.
He follows, clutching his side at the sudden sharpness rampaging through his guts.
A big thing is tossing inside him, ready to be released.