Friday Fictioneers: Foxed

Happy New Year folks, sorry I’ve been away form it all, far too much rich food and way too much booze, Christmas should carry a health warning, next year I’ll be far more organised. So Rochelle I’m back, and slightly late on a thursday night, but on the toilet I had a thought, not fully formed so i’ll see what comes of it. Thinking cap on.

On My Marks…

Get Set…


The man scratched his head looking across the water. How could he have been so naive? 

Traditional enemies; the fox and the chicken had played him like a Bontepi organ. All the Sly talk of leaving the grain with him, taking the chicken across to murder and marinade, then coming back to collect the man, and laughing toward the future as they gormandized  plump breast, sucking their fingers and paws clean.

As he gazed across the water, silhouettes of the animals in a hideous vulpine-cockalorum embrace behind the camper van curtains.

He kicked the sack of grain at his feet.

There we are, relatively pleased with this effort, and 100 words on the beak…




  1. Ah, consumed the body, they’ll never know who the murderer is. Of course he should have taken the chicken and the grain across first. Gone back and had a few drinks with Sly, wait a day or two and then go across to have a fat chicken feast.

    Liked by 1 person

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