To Catch a Fly

When last we left our cockatrice and his pal, his stomach grumbled like a gravel truck (…? or something]).  In the comments, we had a request for longer.  Well, I suppose I can try.  Let’s see what happens.

Ben stuffed the cockatrice into the pocket of his hoodie.  He hung flypaper in the barn.  And waited.  He sniffled.

The cockatrice stuck its head out of the pocket and whimpered.

Ben stared at the flypaper.  Dust clung to it.  He grimaced.  “Sorry, bud.”  He stroked the cockatrice’s head.  “This could take a while.”

The cockatrice shuddered.  It slipped from the pocket.

Ben gasped and dove to catch it.

The cockatrice expanded its wings.  Caught the air.  It flapped its wings and soared upward.  It craned its neck toward the ceiling and crooned its victory.

Moments later, a fly dropped to the floor of the barn.  The cockatrice folded its wings onto its back and dove toward the floor.  It landed atop the dead fly and swallowed it in one mouthful.

The cockatrice leapt into the air.  It stunned another fly with its eyes.  This time, however, it caught the insect before it fell to the ground.

Ben clapped and giggled.

Nate entered the barn.  “Are you crazy?”

Ben rounded on his brother.  “Get out!”

“You need to kill that thing before it kills all of us.”  Nate lunged for the cockatrice.

It bit his hand and flew into the rafters.  It hissed.

Nate jerked his hand back and wrapped it in his shirt.  “See?”

“You provoked it.”  Ben crossed his arms over his chest.  “It doesn’t bother me.”

“You pamper it.”  Nate glared at Ben.  “It’ll bring another dragon.”

Ben shook his head.  “It’s after five.  All the dragons are at the bars, drunk.”

“They’re always drunk.”  Nate rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.  There’s never been a dragon attack after five.”

“Says you.”

“Look it up.”  Ben tossed his smartphone to Nate.

Nate caught it with wide eyes.  “Be careful.”  He caressed the phone.  “That’s your only link to civilization.”

Ben frowned.  “Maybe I don’t want it.”

“Ben, that’s illegal.”  Nate lowered his voice and stepped forward.  “We need to carry these.  Always.”  He handed Ben the phone.

“So the government can track us?”  Ben snatched the phone from his brother’s hand.  “Fine.  But I don’t have to like it.”

“Wow.”  Nate rocked back on his heels.  “Someone gets cliché-y when they’re angry.”

Ben stomped passed his brother and whistled upward.

The cockatrice cocked its head to the side, but remained in the rafters.

“See what you did?”  Ben pointed toward the cockatrice.  “He won’t come down.”

“I’m not leaving until you promise to kill it.”


“Then I’ll do it myself.”  Nate walked to the back right corner of the barn and reached behind the hay bales.  He pulled out a .22 rifle.

“No!”  Ben rushed toward his brother.  “He’s my friend.”

“It’s a menace.  It’ll get us killed.”

Ben grabbed the rifle.  “How’d you feel if I killed Trevor?”

“Quigley.”  Nate struggled to maintain his grip on the rifle.  “This is different.  Cavorting with dragons is dangerous, illegal.”

“I don’t care.”  Ben tore the gun from Nate’s hands.

Nate fell to the ground.  “Fine.  Get killed.  See if I care, Hagrid.”  He stomped out of the barn.

Ben scratched his head.  “I didn’t know he could read.”

So, what do you think will happen?  What do you want to happen?  Was it too short?  Too long?  Too unfunny?

Yep, that’s right.  I’m soliciting comments and suggestions.  I may even use them.  No matter how wacky, zany, nerdy, or weird.  No matter how serious, fanciful, or sci-fi.  It’s a choose your own adventure.  You choose what happens next.


About bkreuch

I like to read, I like to write, and I like to make people laugh.
This entry was posted in Ben's Hen, Humor, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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