Book Two
Joy catches a break in “The Great Outdoors.”
Joy swam upon a neighborhood of Ilehos all circled around in relation to one another like they were part of a suburban cul de sac. Okay, good. I’ll camp here. Gold coins were strewn about everywhere and hundreds upon hundreds of doonies worked at tending their gardens. The various colors of manidoon congregated with their like-colored brothers and sisters and their close-colored friends on the light spectrum. Rather than pollute the zone with random light beads, they travelled in rainbow streaks. The healthy little bastards smelled wonderful. The scene was euphoric, fascinating, hypnotizing, playful… Joy felt young. Like she was six years old and ready to grab a box of crayons, sit at the table with a stack of white paper, and record all she saw around her in wild circles and streaks.
The little dudes even seemed to urge her to join in their projects. Not aggressively, but every so often one would poke her or tickle-swim under and through her armpit. She had to laugh. Hunger was reminding her that she needed to eat. She licked her fangs and pondered what to take advantage of in the area. It smelled like life everywhere, so she wouldn’t have to lure four dozen doonies to their demise.
“God, this place is awesome,” she said and found a single fissure that was pumping out hot water. As she approached, crabs and crayfish scooched away from her, allowing her room at the oasis. The location was close enough to the Ilehos neighborhood to allow for optimal light-show viewing. In fact, that seemed to be what everyone was doing. She turned, sat on a sloping yard, and watched the Rainbow Doonie Show within a bevy of other odd shaped audience members all grooving to the latest jam. The nearby warm-jet smelled clean and sulphury. After a few minutes of near motionless prog rocking, some of the crustaceans returned to their seats. Joy plucked a few and devoured them like nacho chips.
She decided to take off her clothes and go dancing in the rainbow mosh pit. Carefully, she unwound the bandage from her head and stowed it, crumpled in a ball, in her bag. After undressing, she made sure her clothes were likewise tucked in her bag and secure; the bag weighted down by her spear. She put her middle and ring fingers through the buckle-strap in Ethel’s shoe and held it on the top of her hand. Don’t want to leave it behind and accidentally miss a call.
Joy swooped her hands through her hair and made sure it was flowing and big. “What else should one do when presented with an underwater rainbow forest primeval?” she reasoned. “Laura… E-Train… beautiful voices in my head, we’re going dancing.”
She created a beat and sang it to herself, in her throat – not out loud in her usual “Doov and Dooj” way. This was sharing. This was happy hippy shit. She whipped her hair and spun.
Hip bump left – hip bump right. She tilted and twisted and took the opportunity to check the extent of her leg-leaf pattern. Was it indeed everywhere? Yes. Yes, it was. Did she care? No, she thought it looked pretty fucking great. I’m waist-deep in one massive leafy tattoo. She imagined Patty from Neider Cheese being wholly impressed. Once I get home, I hereby declare, I hope it stays.
Joy did a somersault, grabbed up her foot, and with the other foot’s big toe, pointed at other seacreatures on the dance floor:
“You and you and you and yo-oou!”
Do “the Swim.” Uh uh uh. Uh uh uh.
Un-eye-roni-cal-ly. Ba-uh uh uh!
She held out her arms and a band of blue doonies circled her wrist, spinning into a blue hoop on one arm, while a band of yellow doonies did the same on her opposite. She put her arms in right angles in front of her and made fists. The doonies on each arm continued to spin. They enmeshed like machine cogs.
“Doonies gotta do! What they do… to you and you and yoo-oo!”
After an hour of interpretive dance, head banging, and zero gravity yoga for no one else’s benefit but the little fishies and a shoe, the party was broken up by a squad of extra-large Gar – long snout, toothy bastards that only succeeded in grumping up the fun. Several hundred doonie chased them away while dive-bombing their eyes and gills. Things returned to the normal work-a-day for everybody else.
Joy felt it would be disrespectful of the hallowed area to gorge upon a bunch of fellow art lovers, so she backed up a further dozen meters, and happened upon a scoop in the seabed teaming with crayfish. She popped several on the sly and called it good. Feeling sated, she crashed out on a hillside overlooking her belongings and the doonie swarm. Happy and tummy-high, she observed a sea snail crawling up the rock next to her and considered the little trooper, poking it with her finger.
“Dude, you slurp up little bits of everything with your mouth, turn a
portion of it into your own muscle, and the rest gets turned into your shell –
via your butthole. It’s beautiful. It’s literally, totally tubular. Giant
machines on my home-world can’t even do that as efficiently as you do.”
She picked up the snail and placed it upon her knee.
“Here you go, dude. Nibble on me and maybe a small swirl of your future shell
will be Joy flavored.” She laid back and netted her hands behind her head.
“If my body is seventy percent water and thirty percent other stuff. And I’m
living underwater. That means I’m really just a thirty-seven pound, skeletal
and gossamer meat structure. Floating around down here not unlike a five foot,
six inch squid with brown hair and human teeth. God, no wonder you build
yourself a shell. I want a shell made out of all the things I can’t digest. I
suppose I’d have to eat a few mouthfuls of sand, on a daily basis.” Joy sighed.
“’Future project for my gallbladder, I suppose. You’re the boss, dude.”
Joy drifted off to sleep
Copyright (c) 2023 Matt Schumann