So you may have noticed I haven’t been around for awhile. I’ve been digitally dead for a few months now. Not to worry though. I’ve been alive and kicking in the real world. I just hadn’t really had time to join in on the digital foray. Thanks to those of you who showed concern in my abscence. It brightened my days with too much to get done and not enough time to do it to know that there are people out there who care enough to send a brief note my way to check in.
As I’ve officially risen from the dead (though I can’t say for sure how long. I’ve caught up on work but the promise of a great deal more looms on the horizon), I figured I’d cast Winger aside for awhile and maybe go with a different theme this week. To be honest, I don’t even really remember where the Winger stories were headed it’s been so long.
This image isn’t an easy one to come back to, or maybe I’m just out of practice. I’ve got very little rattling around up there in my digitally undead noggin. Still, I’ll give it a go and maybe come up with something half decent. I make no promises though. I’m just winging it this time around so I doubt it’ll hit exactly 100 words like normal, but so be it.
Keep the haf drunken rants coming.
The Chosen One
Filbert puffed out his chest and flapped his wings. He strutted around the yard, hoping to be chosen, unaware of what exactly being chosen meant. The man with the flannel coat pointed at him. “I’ll take that one.”
“Excellent choice, sir. Excellent choice indeed,” the grimy gent who tended the turkey yard proclaimed. Filbert thought his name was Carl. He looked like a Carl anyway.
Filbert nodded and smirked at his mates who hadn’t been selected. Pride swelled inside him as Carl carried him to the wooden altar that was no doubt meant for worshipping the chosen.
He didn’t struggle against the man until the cleaver blotted out the sun, but by then it was too late. His face contorted with terror as the blade sliced through the air.