Lacklustre afternoon skies erupt into crimson with an injection of his rage. We can feel it coming, black and blue clouds moving in overhead, and so we huddle together waiting for the explosion—My body trembling in anticipation of the blows. Max bolting under the table when we hear the door slam open—But they never come. Hyperventilating with fear, I suck in air, inflating my gular pouch and ballooning my chest cavity. My arms float up spreading out two meters in length. —He doesn’t dare touch me. He hangs back at the other end of the room tamping down his haystack hair. “You look like a damn Bustard, Georgia!” I bellow a smart retort and flap my wings. I feel like taking chances. Max scampers out of hiding and sidles up against my leg, echoing my sentiment with a low growl. Things sure are different after that. The following morning, I return to the library and check-out more National Geographic magazines on “Animal Species and their Unique Adaptations”. (169 words) Published in Emerge Literary Journal, June 1, 2020.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
No part of these stories / blog may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied form without written permission of the author, Karen Schauber
Contact Karen Schauber for written permission Archives
April 2024
Visit: http://GroupofSevenFlashFiction.weebly.comCategories |