Creative Writing: Dewy Petunia

The dirt was laced with sour weeds and writhing earthlings. I wasn’t sure if it was a worm I had swallowed, or just the stems of dewy Petunia; either would leave my stomach in somersaults after lunch.
If I survived until then, that is.
“Get up,” a pig snorted from behind.
My ears twitched. Electricity rattled my body and I rose, meeting the blaring sunlight as it cleaved my eyes. His head was colossal, sprouting gelled tufts of basalt hair with sharp, forest eyes cocked firmly at my own. Even the sun cowered behind his massy figure. He caught sight of my trembling torso, thickening his brooding expression and setting his eyebrows into twirling dance. They looked like maggots.
“Huh. Well, look here,” he chuckled. His grin was slanted with cocky
I fell like a crumpled weight, blinded by the endless darkness that swiftly devoured the world. The dirt met my skin once again, but it felt much coarser than before – like soldered sandpaper. I heard the audience cheering. Some of them were laughing. I wasn’t sure who what doing what and where, but I was fairly certain some of the jubilance was exuding from the cheerleaders. Soon, all the sounds – from the creamy hymns of the fluttering doves to the throaty barking of the adolescent spectators – seemed to merge into a single, cacophonous screech. My eyes drifted towards the sky, which was now flecked with the odd colors of freshwater abalone. I prayed that the porcelain giants floating effortlessly in the heavens would descend to the mortal realm and crush my every
The darkness fled in his wake, allowing my eyes a clear field of vision. I immediately recognized the faint scar than cascaded from his temple past his edgy cheekbone, which he had earned from colliding with a fire hydrant during a biking accident years ago.
He smiled, but the circles under his crystal eyes revealed worry. “Hey, you okay, bro?”
I reached for his outstretched hand and grappled his palm. “I’m fine, Aaron,” I grunted. My resilient demeanor was marred by the crack in my voice.
He flashed his signature smirk. “Whatever you say, tough guy. Let’s get you outta’ here.” He lifted my weight from the ground with a firm grip. I couldn’t do much to help him.
The crowd was breaking up. Some of the kids were jaw-dropped in awe. Others had left, bored by their unfulfilled desire for homosexual bloodshed. Even the cheerleaders seemed to disperse, with a renewed attention for their motley-painted faces. He, on the other hand, had managed to rise onto his knees. I curled my lips, both in anger and in disgust at his horrifically pulsing throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times – like one of those buoys that were always floating in the lake – before his mouth exploded. Meaty gobs of blood showered onto the weedy