Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
Today’s avian photo reminds me again of our host’s fondness for little feathered beasties – see Current Story at the top of this page – and makes me smile.
Some of us think you do a great job here, Al.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.
Click here to hear me read this 90-second story:
When the great machines destroy my town, I am one of the few survivors.
I escape into the mountains and join the freedom fighters.
There are eight of us, moving constantly, even in the most inhospitable terrain.
We never stop for more than four hours, and that is to sleep.
Every second day we arrive in a desolate spot where a pot sits over a fire.
It contains rabbit, pigeon, sometimes boar.
And potatoes, carrots and beans.
What we don’t eat we parcel in the bread that is also there.
One night, after a bloody encounter with the invaders, we are bandaging our wounds.
We lost two men, another is fatally wounded.
A scrawny, shifty little man carrying an ancient long gun, sidles into camp.
Our leader, nursing a thigh wound, rises, greets him deferentially.
The others too get to their feet, bow their heads respectfully.
Who is he, I ask, who does not fight with us, but is so revered?
He is the feeder.