Tag Archives: animals

10-Minute Story: The Grumpy Sparrow

Posted by Piscis on

Yeah, I don’t know.

 

Sparrow

 

There was a bird.  It turns out it was a sparrow, let’s say.  It was a terribly grumpy sparrow, which, as you might imagine, made it a very bothersome creature.

It flew around the forest, day after day, looking for sugar and saying unkind things about the other animals in its passive-aggressive manner.  It was rude as well as grumpy, it seems.

One day, the sparrow landed next to an incredibly stupid frog.

“Helloooo,” said the frog.  “Are you a fox?”

“No,” replied the sparrow.  “I am not a fox, you incredibly stupid frog.  I am a bird, of which a fox is clearly not a type.”

“Oh,” said the frog with a thunderous ribbit, then hopped around in circles.

The sparrow fluttered its wings and chirped in irritation.  “Look – I realize that you are incredibly stupid, but do you know where I might find some sugar?”

The frog jostled and regarded the sparrow with a distant, wavering look reminiscent of the way a tree might gaze upon the sky – which is to say, stupidly.  “Is sugar the black things that fly around and I eat them?” burbled the stupid frog.

“Not,” spat the sparrow, “in the slightest.”  It was at that very moment – or perhaps the moment immediately thereafter – that the sparrow murdered the frog, which was, one must agree, a gross overreaction.  But the sparrow was quite grumpy, you might recall.

Thereafter, the sparrow flew around some more until it came upon a fox and alighted on a branch overhead.

“You – fox,” he called.  The fox looked up.  “Can you believe I was mistaken for you not long ago?”

The fox wrinkled her nose.  “No, I don’t believe that I can.  You’re a bird, of which a fox–”

“Is clearly not a type.  Precisely.”

The fox tilted her head.  “Say, sparrow, now that we are speaking, would you mind coming down closer so that we may chat more amicably?”

“Of course not,” huffed the sparrow.

“Whyever not?” asked the fox, licking her chops.

“Because you mean to eat me up.  I am grumpy, not stupid.  The frog – now, the frog was stupid.  Though I do believe I murdered him.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Only in that he was not made of sugar.”  The sparrow squawked and fluttered off, fed up with another tiresome day.

 

Bene scribete.

10-Minute Story: Dincton Flatt and the Goat that he Found

Posted by Piscis on

Good afternoon, those who may or may not be reading this in the afternoon.

Time for another “story” blast-written in ten minutes without forethought, I suppose.

And I call myself a writographer. Or, wait, no I don’t.

 

Goats are places

 

“Sir?” came Featherby’s voice from another room.

Dincton Flatt ignored him, absently clicking through tabs on his browser.  The immaculately dressed Mr. Cheverly had posted a photograph of his newest suit on Facebook.  It was perfect.  Flatt glowered.

“Sir?” Featherby called again.

Flatt sighed.  “What is it, Featherby?”  He looked over his shoulder, and saw his robot coyote trot into the room.

“I think you ought to see this, sir,” the coyote answered.

“Not now, Featherby, I’m quite in the middle of something.”

“Sir, even if I believed that, I would still feel pressed to tell you that there is a goat on your lawn.”

“A goat, Featherby?”

“Yes, sir, a goat.”

“Heavens, that shouldn’t be.”  Flatt pulled up an MSPaint process he always had open, filled in all black so he could look at his reflection on the computer monitor.  He was handsome as you please and blond as anything, just as he intended.  He smiled dashingly at himself and minimized the window, then stood and crossed his arms.  “Very well, then, show this goat to me.”

Featherby led him out to his front yard, where a goat indeed stood munching on the grass.

“You.  Goat,” Flatt warned.  “You mustn’t be here.  Not in the slightest.  This is simply not the place for goats.”

The goat looked up, staring blankly, then goatnoised.

“Hmm.  Quite rude.  What should we do, Featherby?”

“Perhaps we should call the goat store, sir.  Maybe it escaped and only needs to be returned.”

“No, Featherby, I do not think such a place exists.”  Flatt twisted up his mouth in consideration.  “Although, that might not be a bad thing to have around here.  Perhaps we should start one.”  Flatt approached the goat carefully.  “Well, there, fellow – how would you like to be the first in a line of magnificent goats – Flatt’s Goats?  We could sell your ilk all over Danesbury, perhaps as a complimentary add-on to our properties.”

The goat goatnoised.

Flatt frowned.

“Sir,” Featherby cautioned, “I do not mean to rain on your parade, but it might be said that this idea is not a good one.  The real-estate business is enough to manage on its own without adding livestock to your inventory.”

Flatt shook his head.  “You may be right, Featherby, but people do like goats, do they not?  And Cheverly does not have goats.”  Flatt eyed the robot.  “Does he?”

Featherby tilted his head.  “I don’t believe so, sir.”

“There.  You see?”  Flatt turned to grab the goat, but the goat backed away, causing Flatt to overreach and fall on his face.  “Mmph.”

“Sir, this is the second time you’ve fallen down this week.  People may start saying things.”

Flatt rolled over onto his back and stared up into the afternoon sky.  “I didn’t plan on any goats, now, did I?.”  He looked around, but now could not see the creature.  “Where did it go?”

“I am not certain, Sir.  Perhaps it was never here at all.”

Flatt sighed extensively.  “Oh, Featherby, why did I build you?”

“For good times, sir.”

 

Bene scribete.