When it reached Cincinnati, all signs of her true destination were scraped from the face of its container. The long road to this final resting place did no harm other than wipe her ticketed existence from the face of this good earth. She was well packed. Handled with care. No damage done. Yet now she is lost. Stacked amongst the other rejects and unknowns. Her fate, for the foreseeable future, to remain in this corner of this shipping yard, gathering dust and debris. No one left to miss her.

You see, her purveyor passed shortly after shipping her off. Her intended recipient was unaware of her existence, and as fate should hold, had transferred to another address without informing anyone. Thus the package was returned to carrier and returned and stored and attempted to be delivered, back and forth through the postal netherworld until she became just another lost and misplaced parcel.

But why should she be bothered when she is only one amongst so many. So many things to never be seen and never be appreciated.

And how about that smile, if it is a smile? She will continue grinning oh so slightly until the end of time. Uselessly smirking in the dark of this container in a mostly abandoned and hidden part of Cincinnati. Never again to allow anyone to speculate as to the meaning behind those lips.

The best and quickest route would be to take the channel. Though clearly the channel has drawn them to group here. Something about the water. It is different. It tastes odd. It smells strange too. Not in a bad way like when too many dead fish wash up. More in a very distinct way. Once you know the smell, you never forget it. They must be attracted to the smell or to the taste, though I can’t say I have ever seen them drink anything.

It is uncommon for them to group in such concentration. That makes it far too dangerous to float the channel. One or two we could handle. But look at how many there are. We will take the long way through the brush and through the unprotected fields. Each surely to be filled with its own share of surprises. Hell, I’ll take surprises any day over the grizzly end we would face at the channel.

We pull the skiff ashore and unload it. We strap up and bring what we can with us. Some things must stay with the boat else we will be slowed. We let the boat float down stream in hopes we might come across it again later. It won’t be any good to anyone if left tied off here. A clearing is found a stones throw from the shore. It will make an ideal camp site. She won’t be happy to stay here though. Far to close to the channel. No doubt we will hear them all through the night. The moaning. The wailing and thrashing. No one will find sweet dreams this night.