Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]
Post: FFF – December 27, 2013
Theme / Genre: Random words.
Include: glitter, ruler, glasses, elephants, paper
Words: 669
Digitigrade
It’s not often you find yourself inside a Black-beaked Cave Frog, and I must say I really would not recommend it, but the experience was quite fantastic, even for me, Lord Maxington.
The stomach of a Black-beaked Cave Frog is large, very large, it takes up fifty percent of the frog’s entire body; even I, at six foot six, can stand inside. The stomach, although big, is thankfully only half-full of acid, the rest full of some pretty obnoxious gassy methane fumes. I still thank my lucky crystals I did not try to invoke a luminating spell, as that surely would have been the end of Grubweilden and myself.
So, the stomach, it is very beautiful, if not intoxicating, full of several externally illuminated spectrums of colour and light, swirling gases and acids adding to its mesmerising effect; the stomach wall shimmers and sparkles like glitter. The result, quite clearly, for most insects and flies, and other unwieldy beasts the Black-beaked Cave Frog might happen to lasso with its tongue, is sheer hypnotism, followed by hallucinations, followed by one’s skin dissolving off one’s bone within the acrid acid; if I wasn’t so careful, and immune to hypnotism, that would have been my destiny too.
It was then, to my great delight, that my woolly winkle-picker slippers and scarlet and green paisley dressing-gown were suitably of high quality and thick enough to withhold the impending acid attack.
In the short time Grubweilden had evolved from serf to frog in the kitchen, and slimed his way to my bedroom, he had eaten a number of my belongings, however, it was the hollowed-out elephant feet that held my canes and staffs that enabled me, with their sturdy thick skins, to climb out of the stomach and up through his gullet to fresh air.
‘Grubweilden, stop this, this instant,’ I shouted, reappearing in his mouth.
‘Yes, Sire. Sorry, Sire,’ he mumbled.
At that moment his tongue recoiled toward me, I darted out of the way just in time to avoid a severe whipping, and fetched off of the slimy appendage, my spit covered onyx glasses and ancient dragon-leather bound spells book, surely destined for his gut.
‘Let me out, Grubweilden, this instant.’
‘Yes, Sire. Really sorry, Sire.’
Out I rolled, in a trail of slime and stomach bile. I arrived at my desk, and quickly jumped up. My gown fizzled and smoked, covered with acid-burnt patches.
‘Now hold it right there, Grubweilden,’ at the top of my voice I shouted, ‘don’t move a scale, or muscle, or whatever it is you frog’s have.’
‘Righto, Sire,’ he licked his lips, I worried.
As quick, as I could, I fumbled though the piles of paper on my desk, found my golden seven-inch gem ruler, not what I looked for, but grabbed it anyway to use as a wand, turned and began.
‘Omnistratichni, blackicusbeakcavusfroggoil, barth ziptill serfgrubweildening, moggitrans, shazzam!’
In the scratch of time, the Black-beaked Cave Frog transformed in a swirling cloud of colour and glitter; not to dissimilar to the inner-belly vista I had seen earlier. A thunderous belch emanated through the scene and I felt the draft, not to mention the indescribable melee of stenches that followed.
As fumes dispersed, the recognisable crouching form of Grubweilden reappeared.
‘Thank the Lord’s of Baffleton, Grubweilden,’ I said. ‘That was a close call.’
‘Yes, Sire. Indeed it was, Sire,’ Grubweilden patted down his body, as he checked he was no longer the Black-beaked Cave Frog he had just been. ‘Sire?’
‘No need to thank me, Grubweilden. Just get on with my breakfast, I’m starving. You can tidy up all this mess afterwards.’
‘But, Sire’
‘Grubweilden, please, my breakfast.’
‘But, Sire.’
‘What is it, you confounded Underbriar?’
‘My feet, Sire.’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re elephant feet, Sire.’
I looked down at the grey wrinkled skin, Grubweilden: now a digitigrade, wobbled on his toes.
‘So they are, I guess those weevils were more enchanted than I thought.’
