“What rubbish!” Winnifred Firebreather said as she plopped down upon the beige settee. “They aren’t moving.” She gazed in annoyance at the troops on the field. “Terrible programming. Do change channels.”
“I tried, dearest.” Wilfred’s nails tapped on the armrest, quartz-like threads raining in all directions. One large shard ricocheted, slicing across the chest of the nearest soldier.
Winnifred flicked a shard from her iridescent décolletage. “What’s for supper tonight?”
Mr. Firebreather suppressed a sigh. “Skewered game with roasted vegetables … minus the game. Don’t suppose—”
Winnifred had already launched herself away, swooping at top speed for the freshest, juiciest foot soldier.
The episode had just become interesting.
Copyright © 2016 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Microcosms:
http://microcosmsfic.com/2016/02/26/microcosms-9/#comment-529
Emily Clayton 