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“Her name was Persephone, and it was my own fault I lost her. If I’d only known then what I know now…” King Arnie’s voice, at first a whisper, died altogether under the weight of his memory.
“What happened, Your Greatness?” Elliot prompted him.
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The King stared at something far away and long ago that Elliot couldn’t see. When His Greatness spoke, there was such sad longing in his voice that Elliot’s heart wept.
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“My future?” Before his eyes, the kindling dawn flared into a tangerine sky. Elliot’s breath caught in his chest. His thoughts caught in his mouth. His imagination soared beyond his tail’s slicing burn to fill his mind with light and hidden possibilities.
“Yes, Elliot, your future,” King Arnie repeated. “I’ve been around a long time, son — may I call you ‘son’?” he inquired, waiting politely for a reply.
Elliot had recently developed a healthy skepticism regarding the motivations of strangers, but now he began to realize he should temper his caution by listening when the little voice named Instinct spoke.
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“Your Greatness, noble King Arnie da Former,” Barry called from the edge of the pool, bowing so low his chin touched the water, “please allow me ta present Cassandra and Elliot, adventurers from far away, here seekin’ asylum in da peaceful Kingdom of Bog.”
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Barry’s powerful frog kicks launched them forward so quickly, in moments they had left the burning woods and its evil spirit behind. They streaked on in utterly dark wetness.
Elliot had no idea how far they were below the surface nor how soon — if ever — they would rise to the top. The bubble trapped in his shell gave little buoyancy under the weight that compressed his world into a compact snail-shaped hole in the river.
If I felt like this on dry land, I would break out in a cold sweat. I hope my dear Cassandra doesn’t suffer in the same way.
Would he live to find out? The gash in his tail seared like molten lava. Speckles were beginning to float before his eyes, and he feared the coming of a darker shade of black.
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Elliot pitched the sweat-soaked lump of fluff at Yvonne’s head as Cassandra launched herself onto Barry’s back. Elliot vaulted up behind her and stuck himself to her shell as Barry plunged from branch to branch, closer and closer to the flaming hell below.
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Deep in the underbrush, Elliot finally stopped to rest. Sweat dripped from his eye stalks down the back of his neck, trickling under the front edge of his shell. “Great,” he muttered, “now I’ll get an itchy salt rash, and I won’t even be able to scratch it.”
An exotically accented, soft female voice emerged from the undergrowth ahead. “It is soundink to me as if you are needink a friend — a vife, perhaps.”
Curious, Elliot stretched his neck toward the sweet sound. “Who’s there?” he asked hopefully.
But when the leaves parted, Elliot’s eyes bulged in terror.
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“Wait! Wait!” Elliot screamed.
The bird belonging to the beak above him jerked back in alarm. “What?! What?!”
“Please,” Elliot begged, “please let me go! Surely you can’t have rescued me from that spinning siren just to eat me? Please! I implore you, have mercy!”
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From the shadows of Elliot’s mind, came a whistling chirp. “Is this what dying sounds like?” he wondered idly as darkness stole over his eyes and his body rose above the coarse black rocks. “If it weren’t for the squeezing sensation, I would think this was an out-of-body experience.” Continue reading “Everybody Eats”
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Suspended in the wavering blur of Elliot’s desperation, the mesmerizing Passionetta twirled before him, dangerous and distracting. Her voice stroked his weakened will with its ethereal hum, drawing him closer, tempting him with visions of carefree eternal rest.
It would be so easy, he thought, so pleasant, just to lie here and watch her dance. I would never have to move again.
He fought to close his mind to a tiny warning deep within, urging him to resist her beguiling charms. As darkness seeped into his sight, the murmur of alarm faded to the shadow of a whisper.
Time was running out.
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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