“Crabs”

The first time I saw one show up was during my first year, on a rainy day in early summer. The crab was sidling along one of the outside walkways, where the thick, humid air lingered close to the ground. Gray-green eyes poked up from its small, round shell, which was the color of sand, and its legs made a soft, scuttling sound.

I stopped in my tracks, almost causing a collision with a classmate who was following behind me. She shot me a suspicious look. I opened my mouth to explain, but my tongue felt dry and the words caught in my throat.

Before I could say anything, the crab had slipped away. My classmate’s thin eyebrows furrowed in irritation. From what I could tell, the crabs came from a nearby river.

Tall reeds grew along the embankments on both sides, and even though the shoreline was supposedly far away, I was certain I could sense the presence of the sea. The water level rose and fell daily, the cycles gradually shifting over the course of the month. Sometimes only the tips of the reeds and the seed heads were visible, poking above the murky water, and other times the reeds stood fully exposed, with a clear view of crabs clambering around their bases.

Every morning, after leaving the station, I crossed the river on a bridge. I never saw a single crab on the way to the bridge, but from that point on, as I made my way closer to the school, countless crabs lay crushed on the road. The sun roasted their shells, emitting a terrible stench.

Crows pecked at both the living and the dead crabs, and cars shattered the shells into tiny fragments. Any crabs that managed to survive and reach the school would wander through the corridors, the schoolyard, the flower beds, and even the classrooms. To me, they seemed lost, traveling from place to place as though in search of something.