Tagged: fox

I’d Be Lying If I Claimed

  • by Kentbuy myself flowers
  • “Rodney! You can’t be here!”
  • the use of obscene languages
  • mermaid-themed birthday parties
  • “Hm,” said the voice.

Tune in next time part 438      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I’d be lying if I claimed to derive no pleasure from enacting the ceremony with Yesterday, but it was a relief nevertheless to send all five people away from my bedchamber and have a few moments of solitude. The import of what had just transpired slowly soaked in, and when I realized how auspicious it could be I decided to buy myself flowers. Then I decided that could wait, and I stretched out on my bed to doze a bit.

A shrill voice woke me, yelling, “Rodney! You can’t be here!”

This was how I learned that the fox had a name. The person shrilly yelling at Rodney wore the uniform of the fortress’s groundskeeping force, the Enigmatic Gardeners. He was squirming under my bed, apparently attempting to wrangle the fox through the use of obscene languages and awkward bodily movements.

I cleared my throat. The groundskeeper sprang to his feet and saluted. “Terribly sorry, General. I didn’t expect you to be in your chambers at such an hour.”

Although there was a voice in my head urging me to wreak dire punishment on this man for his insubordination, I decided to keep things simple. “Leave the fox alone, and get out of here,” I said with a sigh.

“At least you’ll still have the fox this way,” said the voice in my head.

“Sorry again, General. Rodney is needed in the courtyard, for the Spring Scampering.” He registered my baffled expression and explained. “It’s much like a maypole dance, but the ribbons are affixed to helper animals like our Rodney. It’s an important festival, and is one of the two reasons that Enigma Fortress has such a grand courtyard. The other being, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, hosting mermaid-themed birthday parties. Make a right mint off those, yes sir!”

“Hm,” said the voice.

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I Barely Had Time to Get Back Into Uniform

  • by Kenta little tune about banana bread
  • Finding a skull, picking it up,
  • heels of my new boots
  • “A fox, it’s called.”
  • but you have a job to do

Tune in next time part 428      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I barely had time to get back into uniform before the zeppelin docked at Enigma Fortress. Yolanda kept smiling at me in a most unprofessional but endearing manner, and the pilot continued to pretend he could neither see nor hear us, as he’d been doing for the entire journey.

As I strode out onto the gangway extending from the zeppelin’s gondola to the wall of the fortress, an honor guard raised ram horns to their lips and blew me a rather brown-sounding fanfare. Then the fortress’s resident Yodeler, a corporal by the name of Yancy, began the official welcoming ceremony by singing a little tune about banana bread. There was a dance to go with it, which I was expected to perform. I scrambled to remember all the steps. It is a dance that tells a story, a symbolic reenactment of the birth of the entire Contrarian Military-Industrial Complex. Finding a skull, picking it up, then grinding it to powder under the heels of my new boots. Contrarian defense contractors like to focus on dealing with foes who have already been flensed.

My dance moves earned me another inauspicious blast of the horns, and then Yancy led me to my quarters. I pushed open the door and spotted a red blur as something vanished under my bed.

I turned to Yancy for some insight.

“A fox, it’s called.”

I made the universal circular hand gesture for “go on…”

“They’re good luck. Also, if you make friends with it, warm and cuddly in long alpine nights. I’m sure if you’re persistent you and the fox will bond, but you have a job to do so you might not have that kind of free time.”

“Perhaps I have all the luck I need, and the fox can go.”

“All due respect, General, look where you are. I wouldn’t turn down any extra luck in your position.”

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Guillermo Whispered

  • surprisingly good British
  • had transformed the fox
  • across the blue waves
  • as always in ritual
  • the tickle of his mustache
  • it’s the city of victims now

Guillermo whispered in my ear, “It’s the city of victims now,” in a surprisingly good British accent. The tickle of his mustache awakened those shuddering desires that once before had transformed the fox into a tiger.

He spoke in gloom, of a distant perished land across the blue waves. But as always in ritual, the weight of feeling is kept askew and doesn’t become a burden.

He touched my shoulder and left me to shudder alone.

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Stop Laughing Like That

  • Stop laughing like that, you monster!
  • a wash of heat in his genitals
  • if they never killed a fox
  • then her lips twitched
  • and Philip swallowed

“Stop laughing like that, you monster!”

The  sound of Lola’s voice, so imperious, prompted a wash of heat in his genitals. But still he laughed, because a pretty lady in nothing but a fur coat is a vastly entertaining sight. And he was thinking how she would look at this moment if they never killed a fox, never made her coat.

“Philip, find my clothes! This is unforgivable!”

He started to think he’d made her too angry, but then her lips twitched into a lascivious smile, just for a moment, and Philip swallowed.

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All We Had To Eat

  • which stank as if hyenas had once lived there
  • a little knob on its side
  • scraped off the rhino skulls
  • meat and berries
  • voles, grouse, foxes
  • their hair was curly, but only loosely so
  • consisted of a skin loin cloth

All we had to eat was meat and berries, which had to be scraped off the rhino skulls. One skull had a little knob on its side, and Edgar claimed it for his own exclusive use. Mine was yellowed, an ancient specimen which stank as if hyenas had once lived there. Already I’d lost twelve pounds.

I was on the trail of voles, grouse, foxes, or fish when I discovered the other encampment. Their hair was curly, but only loosely so. I drew a map on the only suitable material I possessed, which consisted of a skin loincloth.

It was at that moment, scribbling away with a dirty stick at the underside of my meager garment, that I first laid eyes on Minerva.

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