Tadpoles

Art by John Hunter ⇔ Flash Fiction by N.Blood

Bare back wet from being hosed-down. Sharp blades and points of grass irritate naked flesh. My stomach emptied out beside me. The scent of vomit and sound, all lost somewhere off into the madness of the night. All I smell; remnants of the tadpoles, phantom tadpoles wiggling in my nostril as I watch the sky, its enormous blanket of thick dawn black-grey.

I try to picture what it will be when then sun rises. Unimaginable blue. Almost summer suede emporium of a singular shade, invincible blue. A blue no ocean has yet possessed, not found nor implied, no eyes ever were. Astonishingly blue. Breathtaking blue. Warm sweet blue. And clouds flirt, gently coy, reaching ever so slow to touch each other in the most privately exposes ways. Frolicking. Love making animals of the deep imaginations imagination. An elephant, a dragon, a witch, a cyclops; in nakedness of vapour.

A jetliner, groans across the plain leaving pure cocaine footsteps in the sky of my mind, disrupting the colour.

This time of year has its own smell but I can’t smell it now and December fast approaches. It will be Christmas and then New Year and I’m thinking about the jet. Dreaming of being up there. Not knowing what it’s like but dreaming all the same.

Dreaming life away.

Billy’s feet tread across the lawn, making squelching sounds. I watch him pull two beers from a tub. I can hear the rest of the party still raging in the house.

Billy, squatting down beside me -That was one hell of a trick. Totally insane!

Me -Yeah, wild. For a second I thought it would be like when Mario eats a mushroom and that I would get like super Mario frog powers or some shit.

-Yeah man.

-You think I got them all out?

Billy squatting down further -Tilt your head back.

-Check for movement. I can still feel ’em, feel their filthy little tails flicking around.

-Tilt your head more.

-You see anything?

-Shhhhh… You’ll scare ’em.

Me, stretching my nostril open-What about now?

-Not really, there’s no light out here but maybe you should rinse your nose out with vodka just to be sure.

-Is it safe?

Billy, straightening up now-Yeah, the Cossacks use to rack vodka before battle. Totally safe.

-You got vodka?

-No… But I’ve got you a beer? Same thing right?

-Ok, how do I do it?

-I think you just get some in your hand like this- holding his balled up hand out, and pointing at the point where his thumb crumples into the fist -Just like coke and press it to your nose.

-Maybe beer isn’t strong enough?

-Maybe… Just make sure you get a lot in there. It’ll do the same thing with enough of it.

-So what do we do tomorrow?

-Don’t know? But maybe we should avoid French restaurants for a while? How bout burgers?

Me, now sitting up, feeling the beer froth into bubbles like dirty creak water at the back of my throat- What about the water park? I feel like swimming.

See more art from Seattle Artist John Hunter on Instagram @johnhunterart

N.Blood is Poet, Flash Fictionist, Neo-journalist and a twisted form of modern essayist.Drawing from experience playing in dirty punk bands around Sydney, living in a European homeless shelter, squatting in derelict office buildings across London, adventures into the Himalayan mountains and the Sahara Desert, and ongoing escapades; N.Blood is arranging and rearranging words for your pleasure.