Bowling Diarrhea

A little shrub, deadly, in the night’s shade. Pale upright trumpet bells bloom, glowing in the moon’s cool light. An acrid smell reveals a wound, where a thorny pod was torn away. Johnny, a teenager, carries it to a campsite with friends. Open now, he looks at the seeds. Little grains of ancient lore he’ll meddle with for kicks. 

At the camp, the compounds take hold, altering Johnny’s perception. The forest pulses in technicolor wavelengths. The glittering nowness overwhelms him. Sparkling dollops of infinity converge and engulf him. White light dances with spectral whims. 

Johnny’s mind is gone, but, one memory still clings to it: The friendly toy robots he used to collect in a basket beneath his bed. 

Johnny falls over. Delirious and rolling in the dirt. He makes robot noises: sonar, rockets, hydraulics, and lasers. 

pew pew pew 

His mouth sputters with foam. Like a helpless wind-up toy on his back. With rigid kicks, he steps over terrain his terrified friends can’t see. 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He ate some Angel Trumpet seeds, about a half hour ago.” 

“Jeezus Bobby, that’ll kill him!” 

When Johnny gets to the pearly gates, he recites the password perfectly.

beep boop beep bop

The god robots, with their infinite eyes, extend Johnny a hand. They lift him into their realm and prepare Johny for his new place and station. They weave his soul into the smokeless fire and lower it into armor hewn from gemstone.  Each piece of his new robot body dug from heaven’s scintillating moment. 

Johnny, pleased, is one of them now. Like a Transformer, but with a different job, he thought. I’ll be like the Iron Giant, I’ll protect this forest from the bad guys. 

“Jeezus Bobby, he aint breathin’”

Beep Ba Boop Boop Beep, Johnny declares, his transformation complete. The robot gods blow their trumpets, their report reaches all things. 

The little shrub closes her blooms in the dawn’s misty light. One of them, wilted, drops to the dust. A discarded thing, food for the soil.