Microfiction #10: Xenofiction, eating, grass

Body count

Finn reminded the school: this is a census. There is to be NO contact. WHATSOEVER.

He swivelled his snout towards Ripley, who last year had succumbed to temptation and nudged a few splashers. The resulting pandemonium of flailing limbs emptied the waters before they could get a decent count. Ripley grinned. A mostly intact salmon he had been tongue-rolling, savoring its oily sweetness, shot from between five rows of jagged pearly whites and high-finned it towards the seagrass.

And remember, Finn ordered, when I give the signal, submerge! You know how hysterical they get when they spot our dorsal bits.

Microfiction challenge #9: Steampunk (maybe*), balloon, looking at a watch

Libby and Beatrice dodged rocks and tree roots, giggling as their pantaloons ballooned around their legs. They slowed as they approached the expanse of Pteridium aquilinum, a hoary quietude devoid of birdsong and beech-leaf rustle.

The hush shattered. Music, maybe, but unlike any from a piano or dulcimer. The ferns backbended as the girls crept towards the source. Libby crouched and picked up a flat object. Letters glowing like fireflies spelled out “Missed call.” And beneath, “August 17, 2:27.” Libby checked the pocket watch attached to her bodice and turned the face towards Beatrice.

2:27.

The object went dark.

*Despite my best investigative efforts, I am still not entirely sure what steampunk is.