By Anne E. Johnson –
What a shimmery morning on planet Ek-Trila-19! A sleepy trilk named Zebbo opened his four giant eyes and gazed over his steamy slime swamp. The smaller sun was already visible, shining on the lavender goop that Zebbo called home. Soon the larger sun would follow, and the swamp steam would burn off into the orange atmosphere. This was much nicer weather than last week.
“RrrrAWRRRR!” In Zebbo’s ball-shaped body, his stomach gurgled. He pulled up out of the slime with a shloop!, balancing on his three rubbery legs. Without moving, he studied the surface of the slime. A school of shinglefish cut through the muck like black knives. Zebbo plunged in, scooping with his jaw. Fifteen shinglefish were hanging from his teeth when he came up for air, and he chewed his breakfast hungrily.
Feeling contented, Zebbo breathed in the gloriously stinky morning air through holes on top of his body. Rotating with each step of his long blue legs, he made his way to the dry bank and sat down. With a constant “blub-glub, blub-glub,” the Big Slime River churned its glistening glop into the many little swamps along its path.
“May I sit with you, Zebbo?” he heard somebody thinking. Nobody on Ek-Trila-19 could talk, so instead they sent thoughts to each other.
