The path laid out before us was like one I had seen
in the comic books I used to read, far more often back in those younger
years. The jungle had a damp heat at all
times, and there was sharpness to the air that took me the longest to put my
finger on. The air felt like when a dog
is busy panting away in your face, their breath all musty and excited. With every step we took the air always backhanding
us along our way. Ducking and dodging
all the underbrush, I understood then why Piccolo had reverted back to a smaller
form. We stumbled our way onto a somewhat
worn path through the belly of the jungle, a clear indication that someone, or better
yet, something, had made its way through here a few times before. In all my years of comic book reading,
adventures that have foreshadowing like this usually never disappoint.
“Maybe
we should turn back. It looks like
whatever cleared out this path was at least the size of an elephant,” I said,
trying not to let my nervousness crack through my voice.
“How
do you know how big an elephant is? Have
you ever actually stood next to one?” Piccolo chimed telepathically. Whenever Piccolo was in his house cat form he
always used telepathy even though he could very well use his vocal cords like
any other human in that state. I’ve only
heard him talk that way a few times, stories for another day, but trust me, it
can be done.
“Yes,
I have as a matter of fact. When I was
in first grade we took a field trip to the zoo and they had elephants
there. I remember feeling like they were
somehow taller than the building that we were inside of. They were gigantic,” I replied.
“Well,
I guess this time around the cat didn’t get your tongue,” Piccolo
chuckled. His laugh and voice in general
whenever he was that size were higher pitched than normal. It was always funny to hear.
The trees around us shot up from
the dirt like they were in defiance of the Earth, refusing to ever go back to
being held prisoner in their tiny shell seed casings for another day of their
lives. Their branches, long and darting,
protruded out in all sorts of broken angles and directions. It was as if these branches were trying to
elude the trunks that bore them the same way the trees seemed to be denying the
dirt their roots were home to. Draped
from the wooden bones above our heads was a thick moss, the kind you’d imagine
a soldier cloak himself with as he’s moving through the swamp on a reconnaissance
mission. The sunlight broke through the
gaps of the treetop canopy, scattering across the forest floor like tiny stars
twinkling. It was a gift from the skies
above for not being able to see the twilight of the night sky.
We had just stepped onto the semi-cleared
path when we felt a strong jolt from the ground beneath us, and then another
one followed by yet another. Like a bass
drum in a marching band, each thunderous pound of the mallet commanding
attention and respect from all those listening around it. The fourth jolt without a doubt confirmed
these were loud stomps, as it rattled the trees, scaring all the birds, or what
could best be described as such, out of their nests into flight. To me, they looked more like frogs that had
evolved to have a bat’s wings. No Prince
Charming hiding here though.
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