The Sketch of Sam Monroe is a weird fiction thriller. Follow the adventures of five quirky Black Ops pharmacologists as they globetrot their way to the Mato Grosso jungles. Philosophy, psychedelics, and banter are infused throughout this literary comic-book.
“Bichano, please…” Lobo teased mixing 90’s street talk with Brazilian spice.
“Y’all are the bitches!”
“I’d rather be a live bitch than a dead ass.” Lucas smirked.
The soil filtered rainwater caused no occlusion. The water was absolutely clear. We could easily discern the bottom some hundred feet below. There did however remain some mystery round the floors periphery due to the angle of the sun.
We’d seen caves there before the passage of noon shrouded the portals in shadow. This surprised me.
If you have one of those dimmer lights and you turn it on to 1/2 or at most 3/4 – you get an impression of the level of photons filtering through the canopy.
I supposed that whatever anomalous geologic formation had collapsed beneath the deep rainforest soil may have accounted for the odd gap in the canopy. But then again it seemed too wide. My brain entertained a kooky thought.
“Think this mighta been a meteor…or…UFO crash?”
Dr. Cook’s beer belly provided excellent buoyancy even as he laughed. “After all this time with you Americans I certainly believe in aliens…I…” He paused. “Oh, but wait…the truth might be…a lot more interesting.”
“The Hamza river.”
“Is that some sort of tributary we’re near?”
“On top of.” Bohm remarked.
“An underground river!” Sam interjected joyously.
“Not exactly,” Cook resumed. “It flows slower than the average glacier.”
“Yes, it’s more like an aquifer that moves in West from the Andes and empties out into the Atlantic. Just like the Amazon.” Bohm added.
“Now we have to dive!” Sam disappeared beneath the water.
We all laughed.
“What an idiot…who here has experience with overhead environments?” Lobo asked.
“Actually he does.” I answered.
“Really?” Lobo was incredulous.
I nodded. “Sailors gotta know how to exit a sinking ship or in our case how to scuttle a floating one.”
Lobo rolled his eyes. “That’s not the same.”
“Hey, I’m not the one that wans to go spelunking. I remember horror stories my instructor told me about some Yups down in Florida. One of them yanked a chunk of suit and the regulator off the other one. Great teamwork… a true ‘Florida Man’ incident. Coked up Miami shits…”
“Florida man?” Cook questioned as Sam surfaced.
“Well, this one is actually dumber if ya can believe it.”
“Hey, Monroe: Training, Guide, Depth, Air, Light…any of that ringing a bell?”
“Yea, smart ass…”
“The Good Divers Always Live.”
“And which of them ingredients is missin’ from this Gumbo?” Fabre asked.
“I had plenty of training diving into your mother’s bush.” Sam blurted out as he raised a middle finger that melodramatically followed him below the surface.
“He’s a fucking kid.” Lobo said.
“Sounds about right.”
“You want to bet he dies first.”
“It’s not gentlemanly to bet on certain outcomes.”
Sploosh. “Brrr…it gets chilly down there.”
“No shit Sherlock…ya mean cave water ‘s cold?”
“Cold and full of bones.”
It took a while for the comment to register.
“What!” Cook cried.
“Guess they weren’t good divers.” Sam said wryly.
Minds | http://www.minds.com/Weirmellow
Support the Journal
Make a donation via PayPal to help zazz things up.
Not Just Zazz…but Pizzazz
Too high class for regular Zazz? Help Pizzaz up TFJ!