Alligator Allan

By Aaron Abilene

an abused man who turns into a badass on the run from the law in Louisiana. Based on the song Amos Moses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Abilene
• Release date: Jan 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223066620

Book preview

Alligator Allan

Aaron Abilene

Published by Aaron Abilene, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ALLIGATOR ALLAN

First edition. January 31, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

ISBN: 979-8223066620

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Alligator Allan

Sign up for Aaron Abilene's Mailing List

Also By Aaron Abilene

Alligator Allan

Written By Aaron Abilene

––––––––

The sun peeked through the thick canopy of cypress trees, dappling the murky waters of the swamp.

Alligator Allan emerged from his ramshackle hut, stretching his massive arms above his shaggy head. At seven feet tall and over four hundred pounds, he was an imposing sight. But despite his size, he had always been gentle. Too gentle for most.

He waded into the swamp, the brackish water lapping at his waist. The familiar chorus of bullfrogs and insects buzzed around him, as pungent as the decaying plants under his feet.

This was his home. The place he felt safest. Away from the judging eyes and mocking laughter of people who couldn’t understand him.

Mornin’ fellas, he rumbled in his slow, deep voice. He was talking to the alligators and fish below, the creatures he shared this watery world with. They didn’t judge him for his size or his slow speech.

Allan moved with a graceful stealth through the swamp, scanning the waters for signs of movement. There. A flash of scales in the murk. He plunged his massive hands into the water and came up with a writhing catfish clenched in his fist.

With ease, he snapped its neck and tossed it onto the shore. Breakfast. Next, he wrestled an alligator from its hiding place, clamping its jaws shut and hoisting it onto the bank to add to his stockpile of hides.

The work kept his mind occupied, kept the darker thoughts at bay. Thoughts of how alone he was. How he would never fit in with normal folk. How this swamp was his only friend.

He shook off the melancholy and trudged back to his hut, arms laden with the day’s catch. The familiar ache in his back and calluses on his hands were comforting. At least he had a purpose here. At least he could survive. 

––––––––

Allan emerged from the swamp and approached his ramshackle hut. The crooked wooden door creaked open, and he ducked inside.

The single room was dim and musty. Old traps and tools hung from the walls, relics from his father’s time. Allan ran a hand over them, tracing the familiar shapes. His pa had taught him everything he knew about navigating the swamp. About surviving.

If only his pa were still around. Maybe then the other kids wouldn’t have mocked him so. Maybe he could have finished school instead of retreating to the swamp that had become his home.

Allan shook off the thought and started a fire, ready to cook the day’s catch. As the flames crackled, his mind drifted to his school days. The other children laughing and pointing, calling him stupid and slow. Teachers who didn’t understand why he struggled to read and write.

One day, their taunts had been too much. He ran from the schoolhouse and never looked back. Only the swamp offered him peace, a place where he could be alone with his thoughts and avoid the judging eyes of others.

The fish sizzled in the fire, bringing Allan back to the present. He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. No use dwelling on the past. He had long ago chosen his path, and the swamp was his home now. He may be alone, but at least here he was free.

––––––––

The swamp came alive at night. Crickets chirped a steady rhythm and bullfrogs croaked a bassline. An owl hooted softly in the distance. The canopy of cypress trees overhead was so thick, little moonlight penetrated to the forest floor.

Allan breathed deep, taking in the familiar smells: rotting vegetation, stagnant water, damp earth. His nose wrinkled at the pungent scents, but they were as comforting as the sounds surrounding him.

He leaned back in his rickety chair and gazed into the dying embers of his fire. Loneliness crept over him in the darkness, as it often did. But he pushed it away, focusing instead on the symphony of sounds and the knowledge that here in this place, he belonged.

The swamp was unchanging. It had always been wild and untamed, and would remain so long after Allan was gone. Generations of trappers like his pa had lived and died in its embrace. Allan found solace knowing it would outlast them all.

A splash in the distance caught his attention. His ears perked, trying to determine the source. But the swamp was full of unseen movements and mystery. He shrugged and closed his eyes, letting the familiar sounds lull him to sleep as countless creatures emerged under cover of darkness on their nocturnal prowls. The swamp was his protector, keeping its secrets as Allan slumbered peacefully through the night.

––––––––

The next morning, Allan woke as the first golden rays of sunlight filtered through the trees. He yawned and stretched, his joints cracking loudly.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he ambled outside. The swamp was alive and bustling with activity as birds chirped and flitted from tree to tree.

Allan spotted a large alligator sunning itself on the bank of a creek. He walked over slowly, calmly, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm.

Well, hello there, he said in a gentle rumble. The alligator's eyes snapped open, but it didn't move. It was used to Allan's presence.

He settled down next to the alligator, crossing his legs. Another beautiful day, isn't it?

The alligator huffed in response. Allan chuckled. He enjoyed talking to the swamp's inhabitants, even if they couldn't talk back. They didn't judge him for his size or his slow way of speaking.

Did I ever tell you about my pa? Allan asked. He taught me everything I know about living here. I miss him something terrible.

He smiled sadly, gazing out at the water. If only I could have finished school like he wanted. But the other kids were so cruel. This place is better. You don't make fun of me, do you girl?

The alligator blinked lazily at him. Allan sighed and stood up, brushing dirt off his trousers.

Well, time to check the traps. I'll see you later, alligator. He chuckled at his little joke and ambled off into the