See You Later, Alligator
I pushed the flat rubber bottom of my kayak ahead of me into the ribbon of black and jumped aboard. The thing always wobbled a little but it never tipped. I sliced through the reflection of the sky on the water, the sound of moving liquid the only thing I heard mingle with the rub of my arms along my rough life jacket.
One bend ate up the shore, and big bald cypress seemed to float their massive trunks on the aqueous surface, anchored to nothing more than flimsy H2O. I took my time, letting the edges of the water soothe my own rough parts. Even the blackest water can wash a soul clean.
The creek folded back on itself in a loop, sending me floating into the sun. I squinted against the glare pounding an undulating ring up ahead. A hot breeze hit me in the face, and I choked on the smell.
Something, somewhere was dead.
I knew the stench of rotting flesh. It still overtook me in flashing nightmares. The time my step-daddy bashed in my hound dog‘s head with the butt of a rifle for peeing at the foot of his favorite chair. I scooped up his broken body and hid it him in my bedroom. Under my bed. For a whole week.
I knew how death distorted a thing, how its hideous grip erased everything a person once loved, made it a mockery.
The tidal current swept me onward, too strong for me to fight my way back, to come again another day. That black water sucked me even deeper into the pulsing ring of stench, a smell so powerful its molecules danced with life in the heavy air. Choking, I stopped paddling and pinched my nose together, but the stink crawled into my open mouth when I breathed in, stung my lungs, threatened to turn them to stone.
I watched something bob on the surface of the water in front of me. Its arms and legs spread out like stubs, floating face down, gobbled up by the dark liquid.
I never thought smelling death could kill me.
Maybe I was wrong.
This week’s series of fiction is set in historic Black Mingo Swamp. To start the series at the beginning, click here. To read more about the history of Black Mingo, click here. Thank you for reading, for commenting and for sharing my blog.
Wickedness continues, a body, a clump of cilantro?? Only the Shadow knows.
Ew. A clump of cilantro would cause me to keep over and die. This character may like it so much that he made cilantro sandwiches for his picnic.
We shall see.
Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men, hehehehehe.
It could be heartburn, especially if he is eating cilantro sandwiches. Ick. That would rot me from the inside out.
Now why are my sinuses burning and I’m gagging on this Monday morning? Oh yeah, you’re writing is so descriptive, clear and concise. In fact, it’s so descriptive that I’m a little nauseous this morning and now I have that stench firmly ensconced in my nose. Ugh.
This truly did make me shiver this morning and by the power of your words my sinuses have revolted. Ha.
Use your power for GOOD, not evil (and believe me you do have power my friend)! (Teehee)
Off the blog, I am writing some things set in swamps at the moment. I don’t know that any of this will make it in, but it is a fun exercise. I was holding my nose with one hand by the end, too, Lori.
I was remembering the three weeks at The Fort in 2010 when the rats died in the walls, and my eyes burned, my stomach twirled, and my lungs refused (almost) to suck in the putrid air. Yes, I was almost gagging reading this and remembering.
I suppose that is good? And the answer would be yes, as a writer you’re very good at eliciting a response…emotional, visceral or mineral.
It amazes me that something so small, when dead, can give off such a powerful stink.
Woah! That’s intense. I loved the way the smell of death consumed the kayaker and the way the ending leaves us fearing that it is the smell alone which is fatal.
If the dead something is big enough, that stench could probably choke a person to death. It’s pretty awful, in my own unfortunate experience.
No, not the rare cilantro clump swamp monster!
Hopefully the dead body of the father who killed the poor dog. That swift and cruel punishment is a part of the rural South that I could do without.
I know! It is the mayor of a southern city – killed off by the same crooked business me he had been peddling to for all these years. They final all figured out he was taking money from every side, pitting them against each other, and raising the stakes to the highest bidder.
Or maybe it is just hillbilly hand-fisher gone wrong.
Ah, the body of a politician would be a good one, wouldn’t it? I’d have to make it especially icky…….hmmmmmm……….
Stabbed with a hundred ball point pens? Choking on a gavel? Wads of legislation stuffed down their throats? Or worse yet – pummeled to death with those damn election signs that clutter up our roadways!!
Eaten from the inside out by their own self-serving policies. That could be really fun to do, because it wouldn’t be obvious right away.
I so love your descriptions of these Southern settings — you are great at creating atmosphere.
That’s the point of this series for me: getting the atmosphere right. I’m spending a lot of time in swamps with characters off the blog.
Such smells are not necessarily confined to dark, swampy places . . .
Take a ride down any rural Indiana road, at the height of summer, where carcasses of the poor unfortunate raccoons, possums and skunks that have miscalculated the speed of oncoming vehicles litter the berm, swelling in the broiling sunshine and spreading noxious fumes. Even closed windows and air conditioning are not sufficient to hold that stench at bay.
Of course, the sunshine DOES dispel any fears that might otherwise be an accompaniment!
Not sure where this new series is headed, but I’m along for the ride!
Wherever it’s going, it’s bound to get more swampy before we’re through.
Roadkill is a foul thing, isn’t it? MTM has an uncle in Montana who picks it up and brings it home for dinner if it isn’t too far gone. Let me tell you, a visit to their house was entertaining.
Guess!! It’s what’s for dinner! I’m thinking instant conversion to all things vegetarian would have been in order.
Thank God we didn’t eat there………
I can only imagine what is lurking beneath the surface!
“Ooooh that smell
Can’t you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you”
L Skynyrd
Keep them coming, Robert. These songs are very appropriate.
Wow, the fact that I find myself wanting to breathe through me mouth or hold my nose, tells me something about how well this is working!
Hugs,
Kathy
It is a memorable stench if one has ever come across it.
Ooh, yay. New fictiony things! I meant to say on the last one that I love the idea of the cypress staining the water. I didn’t know that.
The trees really do stain it. The last time we floated the Edisto, it had rained a bunch. The surplus of water rushing through there made the water clearer, and I could see the bottom. That was creepier for me than not being able to see anything, especially since I was floating in a tire tube.
Ignorance is bliss . . . maybe.
Especially since we saw baby gators last year.
Bleurgh. Smell: one of our most primitive indicators…this post had me imagining the smell so vividly it was almost there. Powerful writing, Andra.
Stinky stuff, the smell of death. Have you started your new gig?
A beginning
Kate – loved your Bagpuss post. Exactly how large is that cat?!
Movie posters come to my mind as I anticipate “what lies beneath” and shiver! The imagination is tremendously powerful…you’ve stimulated some really disturbing thoughts…fortunately, though, I’m not afraid of cilantro!
Debra
Oh, but I am. I shrivel a little every time I see it, Debra.
Very sinister, indeed!
Speaking of bald cypress, have you heard of pecky cypress? MLB and I came across it in a design magazine she was reading. She’s from the Alabama, but hadn’t heard of it, so we looked it up. Very interesting.
I have heard of it. Very pretty stuff.