Flash Fiction: Fluffy and the Terrorist

It was starting to get dark outside, and Fluffy’s human was still out shopping. She positioned herself by the door, ready to sprint. It was vital that she get outside before moonrise, though her human wouldn’t like that at all. She’d lose out on several days’ worth of canned food, as a punishment—but it would be worth it.

She was starting to itch when the woman finally came in, burdened with a half-dozen grocery bags. Fluffy was off like a shot, almost knocking her human down, but at least she was outside. She darted under the porch. But the itch was getting worse. She couldn’t stay here, and risk getting trapped.

She darted out the other side of the porch, though she usually avoided that side of the yard—the neighborhood terrorist lived in the next yard. No one wanted to chance being the focus of his attention. And Fluffy least of all, being very much a timid indoor cat.

But she’d had enough. Last month she had set things in motion; this month—

She sat down right at the edge of the yard, where a bush hid her from her human, but not the terrorist next door, and started to clean her paws. The itch grew, and the terrorist noticed her, and started barking from his humans’ porch.

As usual, his humans weren’t home; no one arrived to tell him quiet down. As he leapt the rail to get to her, the moon crested the horizon, and the itch changed to a burn. Fluffy grew and grew, her form twisting and shifting. Her fur changed, the white patches swallowed up in the black, and her claws and teeth lengthened proportionately.

Red-eyed, she lifted a wolf’s paw and swatted the neighbor’s dog to the ground.

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Flash Fiction: Fluffy and the Terrorist

It was starting to get dark outside, and Fluffy’s human was still out shopping. She positioned herself by the door, ready to sprint. It was vital that she get outside before moonrise, though her human wouldn’t like that at all. She’d lose out on several days’ worth of canned food, as a punishment—but it would be worth it.

She was starting to itch when the woman finally came in, burdened with a half-dozen grocery bags. Fluffy was off like a shot, almost knocking her human down, but at least she was outside. She darted under the porch. But the itch was getting worse. She couldn’t stay here, and risk getting trapped.

She darted out the other side of the porch, though she usually avoided that side of the yard—the neighborhood terrorist lived in the next yard. No one wanted to chance being the focus of his attention. And Fluffy least of all, being very much a timid indoor cat.

But she’d had enough. Last month she had set things in motion; this month—

She sat down right at the edge of the yard, where a bush hid her from her human, but not the terrorist next door, and started to clean her paws. The itch grew, and the terrorist noticed her, and started barking from his humans’ porch.

As usual, his humans weren’t home; no one arrived to tell him quiet down. As he leapt the rail to get to her, the moon crested the horizon, and the itch changed to a burn. Fluffy grew and grew, her form twisting and shifting. Her fur changed, the white patches swallowed up in the black, and her claws and teeth lengthened proportionately.

Red-eyed, she lifted a wolf’s paw and swatted the neighbor’s dog to the ground.

( Read more... )

_______________________________________________

Writers love comments, and I'm no exception! Please let me know what you think!