They emerged from the marshwater perfectly preserved and gasping for air. They did not come back for us like they promised. They did not come to take us into the waters with them to receive the same eternal life but instead they headed for the sea.
I wanted to wait for them to realise that they were missing us but I was outvoted. Shamefully, whilst the rest of the village took to their boats to follow the risen I stayed at home until they were out of sight and then ran for the marshes in the hope that someone would be there for me.
While I did consider taking to the waters myself, I know that it does not work alone. There must be witnesses and words said if you are to rise again, perfect as you went in and ready to be made whole in the ocean's deepest heart. So I watched the horizon and waited for others to rise and bring me with them.
I've been waiting for so long that my dear old body lies beneath me, huddled up as if to protect me from the cold that still seeps into my bones. I am not there now, not in that flesh and blood but above it. I stand and I wait while the village rots with me.
Some day more will rise from the marshwater to bring us all to warmer, deeper homes.
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