December 14, 2016

Flash Fiction - He was unconscious when I found him.


Deep in the hallow, a still form lay. The distinctive markings and musky odor told me I was dealing with my arch enemy – that pesky skunk who kept stealing my prize-winning tomatoes.

It was time he paid for his thieving ways.

I crept forward, shovel in hand and mask firmly in place. The black garbage bags covering my clothes rustled with each movement, but I was a man on a mission.

Until he moved.

And a tiny striped head popped out.

He…was a she.

And a mother.

I slunk home, shovel unbloodied. Defeated.

Who needed a stupid blue ribbon anyway?



*Flash Fiction is fiction under a thousand words. I participate in a weekly prompt that's limited to a mere one hundred words. That's crazy short. You can check out the other participants' stories via their links on the WonHundred Word Wednesdays Facebook page here.*

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