She was standing at the edge of the clearing waiting for him to come in. She’d rubbed her fur against a tree and she was feeling groomed, pelt shining and smooth, free of burrs. She had gone to the river and brushed her head and ears under the water and shaken herself dry, the shaggy hair around her throat fluffing up. She felt beautiful. She was ready. She was waiting. Continue reading… (910 words)
Tag: why do i write so many stories about animals
Hunched in his trenchcoat, the little man limped down the alleyway. A grey darkness and the smell of discarded burger wrappers surrounded him. He hated the city. The sky was too low and, in the alleyways, the windowless buildings pressed too close together. The little man was not the kind of person to ever wish for anything: he knew whatever he wanted, he did not deserve it. But in the alleyways he felt a yearning to be back on the road. He had been thrown out of the circus; he couldn’t go back there, not after what had happened. He’d have to start again. Start again with another show, other people who didn’t know him, another act. Something so amazing, so good, nobody would ask where he’d been before.
As he thought dark thoughts something darker than the darkness of the alleyway moved to his right. Something fluid. Continue reading… (1102 words)
So this sheep was there at the foot of the office building, its leg folded at a strange angle, and it seemed, well, it seemed as if it had jumped. This was an unusual case, obviously, but forensics did their job and found the hoof marks on the window. There little bits of wool on the broken glass. Witnesses said the animal had seemed determined. It had run straight at the double-glazing while the other office workers watched frozen, cups and bagels still halfway to their mouths, fingers poised above the keyboard. Obviously motive was difficult to determine, you know, it was a sheep. And as to what it was doing there, nobody knew. Most of the workers had assumed it was a motivational aid brought in by management. Continue reading… (137 words)
I am a monster. My brothers and sisters scurry around me; they have brought me crumbs and bit of rotten vegetables, the only thing they managed to get from the masters today. They climb on me and deposit the food in my mouth, while my arms and legs wave helplessly in the air.
It’s dark here, dark and damp, and warm. I can hear them all whisper around me. They think I cannot understand them, because my voice is a strange senseless gargle, but I can. Continue reading… (965 words)
The answer to my last article was quite overwhelming, and I wish to thank the surprising number of gentlemen who wrote to me. A great many invited me to stay with them while my fortunes get better and the house gets back to its former glory. But Farnsworth Mansion, dilapidated as it may be, is my home, and I could not leave the library and the badgers behind; so I must thank these gentlemen, and decline. I must apologize to those I have not replied to; but I am sure they will understand that the extraordinary events that unfolded recently have prevented me from engaging in any correspondence, and kindly forgive me. Continue reading… (2207 words)