R-S are for Rash & Scarson

Excerpt from my current WiP, Rash & Scarson, unedited from my ongoing first draft, so don't read it with too hard of an eye. This is the book I'm writing with my kids. They love the scene below. Lulu is a Golden Retriever, and they are on a desert, jungle beach.

Lulu is their favorite, and they have made me promise not to kill her. So she lives.

Oh, and PS, the head-skipping is intentional. I am writing this from a dual-POV between the two twins. I know -- it violates Da Rules, to which I respond, But this is how the story wants to be written.

April A-Z Challenge.

I will post excerpts from various writings daily.

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They waded ashore, with Lulu leaping ahead of them. For a moment, when they emerged from the water, they both looked down at their feet. Sand caked their toes and the soles of their feet. "Forgot our stupid shoes," Scarson said.

"Don't need them on the boat. Speaking of which, how did we get here?"

"I don't know. I followed you. All I did was tell you where the land was. You're like Lulu with the ball. I throw, you fetch." Scarson picked up some dry sand and threw it toward the jungle. "There, fetch girl, go get it, Rash! Good puppy!"

"Shut up," Rash said. "I'm serious. Where are Momma and Daddy?"

"On the boat. Thataway."

"I know. But I mean... what just happened? How did we get here? All I did was swim deep, like Daddy said, a few feet under, and when we came up for air, we were here."

"Whatever," Scarson said. "You think too much. One day your thinker is gonna crack wide open, and all your beans are gonna spill out, and I'll make me some bean soup. Yum-yum! Maybe it's in your stupid book, bean-head." Scarson thumped the book in Rash's hand. She had completely forgotten she had it. "I'm going to get some bananas. I don't know about you, but I feel like I haven't eaten in three days. And I'm dying of thirst. Are you thirsty? I wonder if there's water here. Maybe we'll have to drink coconuts and stuff."

"But what about Momma and Daddy?"

"What about them? Dad threw us off the boat, remember. We don't even have lifejackets."

Scarson put his back to her and pushed his way into the jungle. It was like opening set after set of swinging doors as he pushed through leaves the size of elephant ears. The foliage swung open, allowed him passage, and swept closed behind him. After a few dozen steps, he could no longer see farther than his arms could reach.

"Rash?" he said. He listened. Rash didn't answer. "Rash? Where are you? Here, girl, here Rash. I got a ball for you to fetch!"

Something moved through the bushes behind him, grunting, close to the ground, and Lulu's snout appeared, covered in sand. Her entire lower half was caked. "There you are," he said. "Let's get us some bananas."

Lulu froze. Her ears perked, and Scarson heard a high-pitched howl to his left. It drew out like a siren, high and steady, and ended with a dozen quick chirps. Suddenly a dozen others answered, and amid the shrieks and chattering, a storm of sticks and bananas rained down through the trees onto him. His feet turned and carried him back the way he had come as fast as they could, with his hands slapping wildly at the leaves.

He fell out of the forest, and to Rash, who had found a log and sat with the book in her lap, it looked as if the jungle had vomited him onto the sand. He fell face-first, rolled, and then lay there pointing toward the trees. "Did you hear that?" he said.

"Yeah," she said. "Sounded like a bunch of monkeys. Are you afraid of monkeys?"

"I'm afraid of those monkeys. Forget the bananas. The monkeys can have them. I'm gonna see if there are some coconuts around here somewhere. On the beach. I ain't going back in there, not ever." Scarson stood, brushed himself, and set off along the shoreline, looking always to the jungle and keeping it at a healthy distance.

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Eric W. Trant is a published author of several short stories and the novel Out of the Great Black Nothing. He is currently represented by Debrin Case at Open Heart Publishing. See more of Eric's work here: Publications