Sweet Rumman

Author's note: This isn't the most accurate depiction of Arabic mythological lore, it is a liberally creative take.

"Have you gone to that new garden market downtown?" inquired Lizzy Lonnico.

"A new garden market? I didn't even visit the old one", Jerry Spinton answered. "It's rather spendy, especially before the winter season."

"Oh, no!" Lizzy proclaimed. "Not this one. It's run by a rich family straight from Iran. All the natural fruits and vegetables, no GMOs, no additional sugars or salts, and cleaned to eat. Oh, and the best part, Jerry, is the current promotion! They're offering a free fruit to one customer every fifteen minutes for just this week! Come on, you've gotta try it!"

She was never this aggressive in trying to convince Jerry to go with her anywhere, even when they were children. While he did enjoy her company as well as her can-do attitude, this sudden push did irk him a little. Still, if it would alleviate the air of tension that appeared to be growing, he would go. Besides, he needed to get out more, and Lizzy was a good friend to be with.

"All right, I'm going. You gonna be with me all the way?"

She smiled. "You know it, buddy!"

It was a good ten-minute walk to the garden market, as one of the perks of living in the suburbs near the city would entice. Jerry had only been in the downtown area once, looking upon the run-down buildings; some of those were abandoned and even rumored as haunted, but he put no stock into such stories. He didn't return as there was no reason to be there, as he assumed that even potential muggers wouldn't want to be caught in that dingy place. Why a garden market would be held there, albeit one of unique cultures, varied ethnicities, and different countries, was beyond Jerry.

Oh, well. Free fruit was free fruit. He and Lizzy hurried.

Finally, the lot previously vacated of even rats was sighted, this time filled with the colors and aromas of fresh produce. The fruits and vegetables came in varieties, just like the persons selling them. There were Arabic vendors, a few African vendors, and there were even a few South African vendors, picked out for their pale skin and weird accents. There was a shadowy scorpion-like being-

He looked again.

A handsome and tall Arab wearing a gold robe and a red keffiyeh was standing with baskets of red fruit upon a colorful rug, placed precariously in the middle of the right side of the market. He turned his pointed beard in the direction of Jerry and placed a smile upon his face, as smooth and as brown as the desert sand. He beckoned Jerry and Lizzy over, bowing to them and announcing:

"Yanharif al-Ifrit, at your service. I hail from Tabriz, on the outskirts of Iran. And,” he added cooly, stepping closer to the two, “it is time.”

Jerry stepped back. “What do you mean?”

Yanharif laughed. “A thousand pardons! You are in luck, my friends, for it is the time of one free fruit to our beloved public every quarter-hour. Come, please, pick just one to consume."

Jerry looked upon the bulbous red fruit, looking like peaches soaked in blood. He reached tediously for one while Lizzy snatched another and began consuming immediately. Jerry slowly spun the fruit in his hand and remarked, “This...this fruit does appear delicious.”

"Rumman."

"Pardon?" asked Jerry.

"Pomegranate", answered Yanharif, his smile back on his face. "A specialty not just from Iran, but in all corners of the Middle East, my friend. These are amongst our best, preserved during Jashn Anar - that is, our festival commemorating the harvest season."

Jerry returned a smile of his own. “Nice. These are really fresh, you must have unique preservatives to get them here.”

Yanharif sat down admist his wares, his eyes still staring upon Jerry's visage as if measuring him inside and out. “Oh, I have a method of keeping these ones ready for consumption.” He then waved a hand to Jerry. “Your friend is almost done with hers, so please, eat. These fruits have staples in many a mythology for their heavenly-ordained properties in life-longevity and prosperity, as well as healing. Of course,” he surmised, “there is also the Greek legend of the food from the Underworld used to trap a goddess, but I see this as one more account of the ever-reaching properties of this gift of the Heavens, able to transition between realms. Or it's just a good sales pitch!” At this last bit, the tall Arab slapped his thigh in good mirth, a hearty laugh soothing any anxiety Jerry might have.

As the last of his laughs left his lips, Jerry looked upon the red heart of many stories and placed the produce into his mouth. The sweetness rushed from the touching of his tongue upon the skin of the fruit into his mind and, like his companion, he wolfed it down. Red juices poured from his mouth, a testament to the idiom of the aforementioned predatory action. The tang had a bit of a sourness, but the overall sweetness drowned it out like a tsunami on a lit candle. He closed his eyes, savoring this strange sensation that was overtaking him.

“You asked about the preservative that I used upon these fruits, my friend?” questioned the distant voice of Yanharif. Jerry slightly nodded, not wanting the sweetness to escape.

"Choshek."

He had never heard of the word before, but something about it echoed darkness within his mind. Swallowing the last tidbits of delight, he opened his eyes.

The scorpion-like entity greeted him with a friendly smile, sitting amongst the red fruit.

Jerry suddenly yelped and stepped back, running into another vendor. He looked behind himself to apologize, only to cry out again as another arachnid-looking humanoid stared down at him with its dark eyes. He looked around; there were definitely ordinary people standing around, but every single vendor was some sort of shadowy, anthropodish monstrosity interacting with the individuals like regular human beings.

“Jerry?”

He heard Lizzy's voice, but she was gone. Instead, a snake-woman reached out for him. He pushed her away, his own arms scaly and armored. Again, the snake-woman reached and wrapped around him. “Jerry, it's me!”

There was Lizzy's voice, and this aggressive nature felt familiar. He calmed down, which caused the creature to loosen her grip. He looked upon his own reptilian hands, lifting one palm up and gently touching the snake-woman's face. Finally, he turned his attention to the wraith-like scorpionoid which still sat and stared upon them. He found his voice and made his demand: “What have you done to us?”

Yanharif smiled. “I deviated the transition of the fruit's ordained power, as such is in my name and my nature. Neither of you are a part of this world; now, you both belong to us.”