We have a wooden box with drawers in the garage that serves as a tool chest. The drawers in this cabinet are older than Perry Block (yes, trees had just been invented) and don’t slide freely. Saturday morning, I grasped the handles of the top drawer and gave a quick, hard yank. When I did, a mouse leaped toward me before escaping through a back entrance in the box.
Normally, I’m not frightened by small, gray, fuzzy creatures, but due to the element of surprise, I jumped and darn near marked my boxer-briefs right there on the spot. Evidently, my sudden appearance had a similar effect on the mouse, as I noticed numerous droppings in the drawer upon his departure. He probably thought I was from the Trump administration, come to deport him.
If this is your first visit to Friday Flash Fiction, our little hostess with the big smile and pointy nose is Minnie M. Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To meet the members of the FFF Mouseketeers Club click here.
copyright – Roger Bultot
Running of the Chickens
Spectators crowd onto second-story balconies to cheer on the daring competitors. Local TV crews jockey for position.
Piercing screams echo from the brick facades of ancient buildings while terror runs rampant down the narrow corridor. In its wake, the street is speckled with blood. Chicken feathers float like harmless snowflakes in the warm summer breeze.
“What was it like, running from chickens?” asks a reporter.
“Terrifying,” The combatant reveals the beak-marks on his neck and streaks of blood racing down the back of both legs. “I’ve never been more scared in all my life.”
“Would you do it again?”
*another excerpt from a short story in One Idiot Short of a Village.