Best laid plans and all…
I was going to participate in a “call” for flash fiction awhile ago that I saw on one of my author groups, but you know…I just kept coming up with stuff that didn’t work. It was either longer than I think the call-er takes (the guidelines asked for 300 words) or it didn’t end happily. ;) So, for your giggles, here’s what I came up with.
The picture for the prompt looked something like this:
Note the fact that the dude has no hair on his chest (or at least I don’t see any in the picture). Looking at this, a little shapeshifter story popped into my head for your Halloween reading pleasure. It goes something like this: (**Might have a bit of language some of you might consider offensive. Be warned).
Scratch til it bleeds
Once king of the Known Savanna the humans bested him. He couldn’t remember now how it happened.
The concubine’s soulless eyes swept over them; one after another she scrutinized the men standing in line with him.
Balless twits the lot of them. And every one of them shaved clean. He’d never known such a shifter pride to be so chicken. Every one of the shifters beside him exuded an arrogance he didn’t deserve. Did they see what they’d given up for a chance in her bed?
He kicked himself for he followed the example. Pride, survival? T’was a hard call.
His skin itched from the shave he’d given himself trying to blend in with the conqueror. Foolish move, that. He’d give anything right now, to scratch! But she watched. And he wouldn’t let her know she’d won. Be still. Overlooked. Freedom awaits!
“You!” she said.
He touched his hat. “Ma’am.” Damn. Caught. Time was, he’d crept across the savanna like a hunter, not the hunted. You’ve grown weak, son.
She pointed at him.
The guards grabbed his arms and escorted him into her quarters. Opulence oozed from the walls, but the furs gracing the bed and marble floor made him shiver. Lion, leopard. His kin.
His skin itched as his fur wiggled beneath the human facade. He couldn’t help himself; he drew his sheared-short fingernails across his chest. Damn playing a human was hard!
She shut the door and slid out of her robes, standing naked before him.
“Really, now.” She stalked closer, as if he were the prey and she the lioness in tall grass. “Why do you scratch?”
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
She removed his hat, pushed him down on the bed, and stripped him of his jeans. Her caressing hands made it hard to concentrate.
She kept missing the right spot!
His lush golden fur wouldn’t be contained; as it slipped through his skin relief flooded him. “That’s why,” he said.
She screamed bloody murder… His claws came out…
He dropped her corpse and scratched, sighing relief. Satisfied, he picked up his hat, wondering, were the thin blood streaks across his chest from her claws, or his?
Hehe. I hope you enjoyed this little bit of flash fiction
copyright 2014, Juli D. Revezzo
*Sorry. I do not know the photographer of the above cowboy. It was just provided as part of the prompt.