Daily Deviations, Daily Literature Deviations, and Daily Literature Recommendations
The Human Den by Leonca, literature
Literature
The Human Den
Previous: Khekt trotted between stores and across streets with a giddy spring in her step. A bit of light lingered in the sky- enough that humans still walked outside their dens, but too little for them to travel without the fire they carried in cages. She felt like a mischievous child for daring to go out so early. Her ear twitched in the direction of footsteps. She squirmed beneath bushes which grew in unnatural, perfect rows along the cobblestone path. The male human walked past, oblivious. Khekt marveled at their inability to smell. It seemed almost cruel for a race to be not only blind for half the time but noseless as well. Taak insisted humans made up for it with the incredible detail they saw in daylight and their vicious cleverness. Poor Taak. Thoughts of him had been distracting her lately while she foraged. It was incredible someone so kind was raised by the same predators that killed her father and his mother. She still wasn’t sure what to expect from this
Previous Coyote sprawled like a slice of melting cheese on his lawn chair. A pair of sunglasses rested uneven on his muzzle, one arm behind a fluffy ear and the other grasping out to the space beyond his head. A wren serenaded the warm day with its amusing cry of Shiver me Shiver me Shiver me Timbers! At least, that’s how Coyote chose to hear it after seeing that fun movie. Anyone who disagreed lacked imagination. Only one thing could make a perfect vacation better. He reached out a paw and said, “Spider, beer me.” Spider, clad in shorts and a blue t-shirt speckled with palm trees, reclined in his own chair at the river’s edge. He cast a newly baited hook with a lazy flick of the wrist. “Get your own, you waste of space,” he said. The Arkansas burbled by. Coyote’s ear flicked at the slithering of a snake going deeper into dry brush. A fish teased with a splash. He gave a drawn-out sigh. The empty cans under his chair missed their friends in the cooler, but he had no energy to
Coyote blew up Tulsa. Dirty old man, his whirlwind left the casinos in a state of emergency. The storm moves toward Broken Arrow until it dissipates under the weight of a hangover. Collapsing in a bed of wildflowers, he relives the highlights in dreams.
Sirens can’t drag him from sleep. A rusty can bouncing off his head does the trick. Coyote lifts his throbbing eyes to the green sky. “I didn’t order this wind. Send it back. And I demand a refund for damages caused by the can!”
Sky roars back. Coyote’s ears pop and static tickles his whiskers. Wind winds itself into a wide wedge. Tornado whispers through the tu
Coyote Challenges Burmese Python by Leonca, literature
Literature
Coyote Challenges Burmese Python
Coyote was going along, looking for something to do. He came to a large swamp way down south. Something about the place made the fur stand up on the back of his neck. He couldn’t hear the bellow of alligators or the scurrying of woodrats. There even seemed to be fewer birds in the sky. Coyote went along, looking for something out of place, until he found a big snake.
The snake reminded him of the monsters he’d killed to make the Earth suitable for Man to live in. He kept a safe distance and called out. “Hiya, my fine spotty fellow!” he said. “I know everyone who lives here, and you are not one of my cousins. Whe
Waraba has been Waraba since before Amadi was born. He claims he earned the nickname because he has the hyena’s luck in finding things. Amadi thinks it must be his laugh instead. It is loud and tense and filled with wanting. Waraba fights for attention like a hyena wrestling the marrow from a bone.
The sun is climbing from its bed. Treasure trucks lumber in from the city to dump their loads. Waraba is wetting the side of a rusted Bajaj. Little wheels point skyward, a three-legged carcass in a savannah of refuse. Waraba finishes and scans his domain. “Have you found anything good yet?”
Amadi rips open another black bag. He
Something was off about the Woods that morning. Papa Bear couldn’t define it, but the feeling lifted hairs on his back while he suggested the family cut their pre-breakfast walk short. The feeling solidified when they found the front door open. He poked his head inside the cabin and huffed in the intruder’s scent. A human female, young and injured. As he took in the last detail he noticed spots of blood leading to the kitchen.
Mama picked up Baby and held him tight. The scent of her fear pricked those hairs on Papa’s back as high as they could go under his shirt. He knew she was thinking the same thing. An injured human cub
Excerpt from the Travel Journal of Dr. Babitunji, Chief Magician of King Sulakhan: Collected by T. P. Hade of the Nonhuman Cultural Illumination Project
Author’s Note: In 461BK, during the second year of his reign, King Sulakhan toured the outer reaches of the Saaraiah Desert to offer gifts to his citizens and learn more about his kingdom. This occurred in the town of Basieruz, now a popular tourist destination.
We did not tame magic with our intellect. The natural world perfected its use long before we attempted to define it with our convoluted theories. – King Sulakhan
The Head Man prostrated himself before us. Without waitin
He went to sleep a man and awoke a jaguar. The feline form felt like coming home, and as soon as his eyes opened he could see that he was indeed back where he belonged. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above, splashing across his mottled coat in warm patches. He took in a breath of humid air, held it, savored it.
Nothing here but the buzz of insects and the call of monkeys. The time of searching had come. He swished his long tail back and forth behind him as he padded across the damp soil, reassured by its presence that he had entered that state of twilight reality where answers could be found.
His pink nose twitched, drawing
Uncle Levi and Auntie Gertrude and Katie didn’t miss Gramma. They didn’t even think about her until her Soul Fly Day came. Their flies were silver with big sparkly opal eyes, but Momma said the wood ones Grampa carved for us were just as good.
It was my first Soul Fly Day ever. Momma got me a new black dress and told me it was all right to cry. Katie’s dress had white ruffles and silver flies stitched into it. She pointed at my wood fly and called us poor.
There were so many people there was barely enough room for the shaman to get to Gramma. Everyone got real quiet so we could hear him say words I didn’t understand.
King Cobra returned to the jungle bearing the scent of milk and sandalwood. He searched for his nearest subject, and found Spitting Cobra.
“My festival has ended,” he said. “Gather my subjects.”
Spitting Cobra bowed his head. “Namaste, Raja” he said, and then set off on his duty.
King Cobra coiled before the entrance to his termite mound burrow and waited.
He felt the vibrations made by his subjects before he saw them. Snakes of every length and color poured out of the undergrowth to take their place before his throne. All were accounted for except that most arrogant of constrictors, Python, who never r