Flash Gordo

She had come to this meadow often, but only at dusk, never when the hawks circled and screeched. She scurried under the log and rested there. Dust blew in the air followed by a whirring sound and then a drag over the earth. Something near felt bigger than the log that she hunched under. Nervously she dug deeper, removing the small pine nuts from her cheek and then a shadow came over here. She held her breath. Something big fell upon the log and she quickly twitched her tail as the log tipped. She held quiet. A silence came over the meadow, no hawks, no rustle of deer. A bonk on her head shocked her and then plopped to the ground. It was red, red with white markings. The white looked like a drawing of two mountains. Her legs began to tremble and she feared the log would begin to shake. Suddenly the shadow moved and grew across the log and then disappeared followed by the whirring sound and the drag over the earth. The red bead with the white marking glared at her. She reached out, tapped it. Hard. Sticky. She tapped again and a small bit of the red flaked off. She patted the bald spot—it looked and felt a bit like mud, but a quick wiff and she immediately thought of honey. She tapped the earthen brown again and then put her paw to her nose, then to her tongue. Her head reeled, her mouth salivated, and her heart raced. She heard a hawk screetch, a sound she had never heard before, something that sounded like, “chok laaaaat.” Her head reeled, her mouth salivated, and her heart raced.

Editor's note: This is what we call flash fiction, a story in 1,000 words or less. It's March story maddness for Inky Thinky. The goal is a story-a-day, under 800 words, probably closer to 300. This one’s about that. Let’s see how it goes. Every picture tells a story. Send me a photo if you want me to use it in a story. Send your photos to inkythinky@mac.com.