The Scorpion

The scorpion needed help,

of that there was no doubt.

He struggled so, so deeply,

I felt I had no choice.

Oh, should I have feared him?

Of course not, why would I?

A scorpion I was not,

but the scorpion I loved.

“How can I help?” I asked.

And the scorpion replied,

“I need to get across.”

That seemed simple enough.

“Hop on my back,” I said,

“I’ll swim and keep you dry.

But please, please promise me,

keep your stinger held high.”

“Of course, why bother ask?

In all your years, my child,

have I ever stung you?

I love you, don’t you know?”

So he climbed on my back,

and I began to swim.

He trusted me to help!

And I felt so honored.

The swim was long and hard.

But he encouraged me,

reminded me of my

intelligence and strength.

Bolstered, I swam harder.

But then I heard him shout,

“Slow down! You can’t go fast.”

“Why?” I asked. But I slowed.

“You’re still a child, my dear,

young and inexperienced.

You cannot go too fast,

or you’ll wear yourself out.

And then we’d both be lost.

But even worse than that,

I would lose you to Death,

and I wouldn’t bear it.

So slow down, blessed one.

We can enjoy the swim.

And on the other side,

celebrate our success.”

“But the water is cold,

and the current too strong.

We need to move faster

if we want to survive.”

But my pleas went ignored,

still he urged me to slow.

So I slowed even more,

just to make him happy.

But the dangers increased,

so I warned him again.

“Don’t say that,” he told me,

“You’re holding me hostage.”

What? Did he just say that?

How? How could he think that?

Why? Why would he say that?

Me, holding him hostage?

No, I wasn’t, that I knew.

I wasn’t hostage holding,

I was helping a friend.

Helping. I was helping.

But the shame - oh, the shame -

lingered, burned, consumed me.

The icy water steamed

as my anger burned bright.

But anger would hurt us.

Forgiveness was our way,

our salvation, our charge.

That was what he taught me.

So forgiveness I tried.

But I failed, I couldn’t.

So instead I just swam,

Fighting tears in my eyes.

If we made it across,

Then all would be alright.

We’d go back to normal,

yes, all just as before.

Then I felt sand and silt.

Hooray, we had made it!

And yet I still felt sad.

With one swim, all had changed.

“Why, why did you hurt me?”

I asked, I begged, I cried.

“What do you mean?” he said,

“I never once hurt you.”

“You did,” I insisted,

“You insulted me, and

you slandered me, and

never once said sorry.”

“I did nothing wrong, child.

I promised not to sting,

and I held to my word.

Why haven’t you thanked me?”

And I could not respond,

nor could I think clearly.

I stumbled and fell back,

into the icy stream.

“Since you feel so strongly,”

he told me, advancing,

“Go back to the water.”

He lunged and he stung me.

“Why?” I asked, “I loved you.”

“And I you,” he replied,

“But you needed to learn

that scorpions always sting.”

And the scorpion I loved

watched as I sank under.

Into the deep I went,

lost to the world above.