Flash Fiction Friday: The Legend of Switch

It was pointed out to me that once a person has read my take on the prompts, it is difficult to “unsee” it and work from a blank slate as it were. So we are going to switch things up a bit. I will give you the prompts here at the top, throw in a fun picture of some kind, and then my own live written piece. That way you can take the prompts “clean” and do with them as you will. A reminder that right now my prompts are coming from The Storymatic, a super fun writer’s card game and prompt set that you can find on Amazon. (Not a sponsor, I don’t do that thing).

This week’s prompts are: (Oh this is fun!) Wild Card- make your character an animal and draw another card!, person with a hidden talent, awfully big shoes to fill

We went up north to visit family and play in the snow last weekend. The hubby did a snow angel that he immediately regretted, as he took a fair bit with him down the back of his shirt. Good times!

Dart died the way anyone dies, in the jaws of someone else. He was the fastest, the largest, the brightest. We thought no one would ever catch him. He would Tribe Prime forever. But that jewel bright chest of his caught the sun just right. And the hawk caught him.

We mourned, naturally. But just as naturally, the next day we were glancing between one another, wondering who the next prime would be. Would it be Lance with the longest, thinnest beak that drew the sweetest nectar from the deepest flowers? Would it be Burst who could out-strip everyone except Dart at any distance? Would it be Blaze, who shown green or blue or gold depending one how the light hit him? All the females said he was the most beautiful. He was flew right into the limb of a tree once, so I didn’t think it would be him, though more than one person speculated.

The Dame roused herself from her strong, safe nest. She fluttered her clever, camouflaged wings and trilled to us all. We gathered. The whole tree abuzz with the sound of wings.

“The one who brings me the ripest raspberry.”

And we were off.

The raspberry bramble lay on the other side of the stream, across the open expanse of the meadow. Exposed. Dangerous. We whipped, dodged, dove. Then the hawk screamed. It had spotted a meal. More than a meal.

Blaze turned around at once and made for the safety of the tree. Burst zipped ever fastest. First to the bramble, first to come back with a dark, juicy berry in his beak. Lance came just after, diving nose first into the bramble, thwarting the claws of the beast that pursued him. But there were others. Plenty of others, that scattered and zipped. Some never made it across the water. Some never made it back to the tree.

The ripest berries are the ones that bask in the most sun. Sun that will glint, and give a flash of emerald feather away. I found the one I was looking, just the same red as my crest, the color of ripeness.

Lance burst back out of the thicket, a berry speared right onto his beak. The hawk had it in for him, its claws still smarting from the crash with the bramble earlier. It chased him across the meadow, clear passed the tree and back. He made it, but he lost the berry in the pursuit.

I plucked the berry from the bramble and made my way across the stream. My wings pumped. I was halfway across the expanse of such green grass, when the shadow crossed my path. The hawk was coming for me. I paced him. Watched the shadow criss-cross my path. I waited until the very last moment. And then I darted backwards. Straight back, no feint. The hawk pulled up at eh very last minute, getting a claw full of dirt for its efforts.

It climbed back up into the sky, as I zipped right over its head. It wouldn’t be able to come back around i time to make anther grab. I landed before the Dame’s nest, prize in beak, and laid it at her feet.

Burst buzzed up beside me. “Brilliant move. I never would have thought to go back like that. Too bad you made it second.”

“I did not ask for the first or the fastest,” the Dame chirped. “I asked for the ripest.”

Burst stilled as she sampled each berry that sat before her. She rose, wings whirring. She hovered for a moment, then nuzzled her beak into the feathers at my neck, singing little endearments all the while. Then she looked to the others perched, observing.

“Switch is Tribal Prime! Switch! Switch!”

The tree took up the chant. “Switch! Switch!”

Dart died because he grew lazy, and became someone else’s meal. I know better. Perhaps I will be Tribal Prime forever.

My loved and had a way with hummingbirds. It’s apt that a group of them is called a charm, since she could charm them into her hands. Whenever I see one I send a thought to her, and take comfort on the thought that her friends are keeping an eye on me for her. Today’s post is for her.

I hope you enjoyed it. And I can’t wait to see what you post in the comments. Happy Friday!!

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