Edward Owen – Author

Ray Bradbury Challenge #11- The Snarfbugle is in Season

With a nod to Lewis Carrol … no, it doesn’t rhyme. I can barely do “Roses are red — “. For an explanation of the Challenge, click here.


The Snarfbugle is in Season


Gilblat’s tentacles writhed in anticipation as the aromas wafted through the air and settled on his glistening skin.

“Oh Hoochit, you have certainly outdone yourself this time,” said Gilblat. “If we do not haggench quickly I will be a puddle on the stones.”

Hoochit ambled about, tending to a number of boiling dugys and fronnets filled with colorful morsels. Her claws and hard shell clicked and clattered over the rough hewn floor.

“For you, my old friend, it is a labor of love. It has been far too long since we shared a haggen. Just a few moments more. Move to the slab and be patient.”

Gilblat did as instructed, keeping three of his six eye stalks focused on Hoochit’s activities.

After a short time, Hoochit trudged in, all six upper appendages loaded with food. She spread it out over the surface of the raised stone. Gilblat’s tentacles fell on the feast shoveling bites into both orifices with a speed born of gluttony. Droplets formed on his skin and dripped toward the floor, forming a puddle beneath him. Hoochit kept busy lugging fronnets and dugys to the slab. One of her appendages accidentally touched the iridescent pool causing her claw to turn white. She scurried into the other room and plunged the afflicted body part into a bubbling dugy until it regained it’s bright minro color.

“Ummmph …tougen slog is so tender … glamph … the best ever … oh, the kleeg is incredibly juicy … Hoochit, you are a genius …” Gilblat spewed compliments along with bits of his meal. As he reached into one of the dugys he shuddered and stopped moving.

“No! It can’t be … Snarfbugle! This above and beyond. How did you manage to find it in season?” Gilblat resumed his haggenching.

Hoochit gave a little giggle, her tail rattling against the slab.

“I have to confess, I did no such thing. I harvested it last season, cut open a weydolling and stuffed the snarfbugle inside to preserve it. Rather ingenious if I do say so myself.”

Gilblat slogged back from the slab and emitted a bright blue gas cloud.

“My sincerest compliments. By far the most chognalagus repast slathered into either of my grenches.”

“Thank you for your kind words. Now, dear friend, I have to bid you farewell,” Hoochit said. She shook, claws and tail flailing against the floor. “I am brooding and the time has come. I regret sacrificing you this way, but my measly shell is not nearly enough to sustain my offspring. Given their appetite, you will not suffer for long.”

Gilblat’s eye stalks snapped toward Hoochit, now writhing on the stones. The back of her shell split open and tiny claws forced their way free of the opening. Hundreds of miniature Hoochits crawled over her body, tearing small pieces off and stuffing them into their mandibles. She disappeared under a swarm of snapping claws and voracious progeny.

The first baby reached Gilblat and sunk its claw into his flesh and attempted to rip a piece free. One of his tentacles snatched the small fry up by the tail. It squirmed in his grip.

“You and your siblings seem to have rather large appetites stuffed into such diminutive bodies. I seem to be in a position of eat or be eaten. Very well.”

Gilblat stretched out one of his grenches and dropped the creature into it. His linkles and dexaton reduced the fry to a mass of red slime in seconds.

“Oh, Hoochit, it would seem you have saved the best for last. Quite grimordial I must say.

After some time, with the stones clear, Gilblat slithered through the portal and headed for his quag. He remembered Hoochit had a sibling.

I wonder if she is planning a brood any time soon?

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