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The approaching shadow spread over Elliot, blanketing him with a dark so deep he knew it was Death. He closed his eyes, apologized with all his heart for the time he’d told his little brother that the salt lick they’d happened across was an icy slip-and-slide, and he prepared to die.
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The shocking splash was a cold, dead hand slapping Elliot smack in the face, yanking his breath right out of his lungs. Water filled his shell, now a brick dragging him belly-up to the bottom of a crushing grave. His life swam before his eyes; it looked a lot like bubbles.
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One moment, Elliot’s foot surged over moist dirt, the next, it hit a large, wet stone and surfed across its surface, out of control and gaining speed as he streaked toward a precipitous drop into the roiling rapids.
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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.
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The ground had changed from a hardened white crust, scraping beneath his foot like the shards of a broken dream, to a rough carpet of crunchy leaves scratching softly at his seeping sole, but Elliot didn’t notice.
His single-minded purpose had pushed him to the peak, a glistening trail of crystalized slime painting his path over the sun-baked clay, drawing a portrait of imminent death as he slipped in and out of conscious awareness, his brain so shriveled and fatigued that the air before his eyes seemed to shimmer with hallucinations.
One of them spoke.
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Feeling an itch for excitement in the very soul of his single-footed self, Elliot forged a path up the hill that stretched further than even his fully extended eyes could see.
As his muscles, undulating beneath his glimmering skin, drove him ever forward, the sun rolled lazily across the sky, slowly stirring the air in its wake to blow a warm dry breath over his streamlined form, mocking his efforts with the very real threat of dehydration. His confidently rapid gait struggled against the parching wind and the thirst it left behind, and his progress slowed to the pace of a sleeping sloth.
A dark tendril of doubt crept over the crest of this endless uphill landscape. Should he admit defeat and turn back? Can a person ever go home again?
Elliot couldn’t escape his previous cramped quarters quickly enough. Sparing them one brief backward glance, he raced off to seek adventure and fortune. And who knew? Maybe even romance.
To be continued…
“Wait a minute. That’s it? That’s all? You call yourself a writer?” You, feeling cheated by such brevity.
Yes, that’s it, that’s all, and I do call myself a writer, thank you very much. But I want you to get your money’s worth be happy, so I’m offering you a twofer.
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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