Comb Over

Sunshine spills o’er these sycamore hills and darts amongst the buttercup plains, yet for me, there’s darkness approaching. I failed. Fizzled out. Lost my sparkle.

He’s coming for me, that foul creature. Wants to chop off the part of me that shines at daybreak. And all because I’ve had a nasty cold this past fortnight. Is it my fault I can’t crow through the dawn?

Around and around I circle, pacing through my fears. I wander near the pond, near the other me. Is he there? Can he help me? I catch sight of his magnificence down in the dark deep of the pool. Cocky as always. He just tilts his head and chuckles.

Swish and glint. The dicey blade is headed for my head. “Goodbye, world!” I squint, bracing for the bitter kiss.

“Damn rooster!” His skin, speckled with broken blood vessels, reminds me of the butter pats stamped with Marianne’s stunning silhouette. Ah, now there was a hen. He, on the other hand, reeks of whiskey and death. He growls and sways on his feet. “You can talk?”

One darkness lifts as another takes hold. I feel the shackles snap shut, and I know I’ll regret keeping my elegant head.

 

Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Flash!Friday:
https://flashfriday.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/flash-friday-vol-3-37/#comment-41616

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