Blowfish Fugue -- Character sketches (Zargan)


   20010731.1836 EDT @lanta, GA, USA

     It was a big hole in the ground. Contrary to the opinion of Daniel Holloway from eighth grade, I can tell the difference between my ass and a hole in the ground -- although judging from the smell of this particular hole I could see how he might think I could get them confused.
     Zargan the giant, invisible, telepathic Space Frog nodded his head in silence.
     The smell, while being almost exactly the olfactory definition of nasty, wasn't extraordinarily powerful, so Zargan and I could approach. Not that Zargan would care, anyway. Zargan is, for the purposes of my story, fictional.
     We stomped our way a few steps closer through the brush and ferns -- stomping because it's not a good idea to sneak up on certain native fauna.
     Zargan hauled himself gracelessly into a smallish beech. I pushed on the slender trunk, leaning it towards the hole so he could get a better look inside. The late afternoon sunlight, while plenty bright enough for illuminating, for instance, a strip-mall parking lot, was just bright enough to cast confusing hard-edged shadows against the rich greens and browns that were bright enough to leave negative afterimages when I turned my head quickly.
     It was so muggy that the shadows were sluggish, not feeling much like moving on their own in the heat. I shook the slender trunk. Zargan slipped a little but did not complain.
     "Go ahead," I said aloud. "Go in. Have a look."
     You first, he replied.
     But there was no point. The hole exuded the foulness of decaying meat and the sweetish vileness of the breath of someone whose kidneys have failed. There was a hint of bluish-heavy, tangy ozone, too, and rotten-egg sulfur. A sub-sonic stifling warmth rolled out of it, nourishing the ferns, who tend not to care about the origins of such things. I knew what was down there. It was a Hellmouth. Great.
     Hellmouth. Sounds like a brand of mayonnaise.
     "Whatever. You can sure as hell keep it off of my sandwiches," I retorted mildly.
     You're right. It would make a better name for a Cajun pepper sauce.

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