I foraged all day, finding the biggest, tastiest seed for my newborns. When I returned to my hole, however, smoke was pouring into the sky from the field fire. The seed fell from my mouth, and I watched in mute horror, smelling the charred mouse flesh in the air.

I was out patrolling when I found some fresh meat. He was a bear cub barely weaned from the teat. Nothing’s too young for a cougar.

Pathetic perhaps, but someone needed to make the joke.

OK, this one does have some profanity in it. So consider it an unofficial entry – I’ll write another one later that meets the guidelines better. But this one popped into my head and wouldn’t go away:

Yes, mom, you’re right.

I know, I shouldn’t have done it.

But damn it – the little bitch ate my porridge!

I’m honestly not sure if sentences that containing multiple spoken sentences count as one sentence or one per spoken sentence, If you get me. Is anyone able to clarify that, or is it just near-pointless pedantry?

Here’s my entry.
—-

“So,” said the mouse “how’re you keeping? When are you due?”

“Oh, I’m good thanks. The kittens aren’t due for a few weeks yet though… Get ready, John’s coming!”

The cat’s owner walked into the room and the cat and mouse put on their act for him once more.

I felt the thirst again. It’s been happening more often ever since Dave pounced on my pupa. I may give in just this once; after all human egg blood is supposed to be the sweetest of them all.

I just get so tired of it. Hunting down food, scaring off enemies, marking out the territory – all for some thankless Alpha.
Oh, deer.

Intriguing, here’s my entry:

Oh yeah, they call me the bighorn sheep. All the ladies love me.

What do you mean, “You are a lady”?

Here in Maine they say us mosquitoes are so big we can stand flatfooted and butt fuck a turkey.

That is not true.

We have to stand on our tippy toes.

Reminder: the challenge is PG-13. Please stick to it. Thanks!

Can I enter more than once? If so, here’s the first entry:

I can smell her, concealed somewhere behind me, deep between those dappled columns, hidden in the cavernous temple beyond the glade. The hackles of my neck rise in a sullen acknowledgement of her presence – I feel the growing urge to breach that trust between us, to fly, to start the chase before she is ready to run. She takes me by surprise, leaping from the right; vicious and brutal, I fall under her weight.

If not, give me until the end of the week…

http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com
@chriswhitewrite

Son, I’m sorry I stepped on your paw. I know you were just trying to play. But if you can’t keep up with the pack then we can’t take you with us anymore.

@Chris:

More than once is fine!

– c.

I did catch that PG13 caveat, but well the evil me couldn’t resist. I will endeavor to come up with something more suitable and acceptable.

The cars, the people, the stores; none of these things bothered me as I wandered into the centre of the mountain resort town, because that bush in the garden outside the hotel looked too delicious to ignore. As two curious, meddling, stupid human tourists passed by, their wonder and excitement at my “unusual” and “amazing” presence was palpable as they reached for their cameras. Leisurely, I munched down on the bush just to get a mouthful, and to show these tourists how much I appreciated their visit, I spun my white-tailed buttocks towards them and kicked dirt in their faces.

Never before had I seen a bear so up close, and the smell was much stronger than the other mice had suggested. I myself was no bigger than one of his front teeth, and my little heart raced when his paw flopped toward me. Thank the Creator that he was dead.

We smelled them on the air at the start of November, those humans in their awkward coats and boots, with their ridiculous orange hats, carrying their big stupid guns. We ran, crossing streams, counties, highways, and entire states, to get away from their stink and the monstrous hum of their trucks and brainwashed dogs at their heel. Then my fawn tripped on a fox hole, snapping her ankle and then there were two booms of thunder; her blood splashed against a stinging fire in my ribs and now I lay here paralyzed with my dead child, licking snow and listening to the crunch of their boots and the howls of their dogs as they rise over the bank, pinpointed by peaks of bright orange.

My submission, courtesy of the deer in my backyard:

I haven’t seen anything fresh for four moons. Everything’s brown and dead, and I’m hungry.

I wouldn’t tell my fawn, but some days I pray to hear howls.

What’s with all this cougar urban myth malarky?
I mean really… do I LOOK like I like younger cats?
Simply a way to hunt bigger prey you know; I mean any classy feline with any sense at all knows younger males sniffing around tells the big cats where to find her.

I twitched an ear out of nervous habit as the terrarium loomed ahead, floating in the pin-pricked void, gravity in a bubble. Inside, I could see the herd I was destined to join, their heads rising and turning to view the incoming craft, then lowering again without a sound, unnaturally accustomed to the sight, knowing they were safe out here. I shivered against my will; deer don’t belong in space but someone forgot to tell the humans that.

My mom always told me that my eyes were bigger than my stomach, that I spent too much time grazing. But I can assure you that my horns are not bigger than my toes. I prefer eating to fighting, and I can make a narrow trail through the mountains to the pasture without trepidation.

I am a golden eagle and I sit on this rock in the morning light. There are people in vehicles below me on the road, waiting, waiting, and waiting for the Pilot Car. They are trapped and I am free.

Bearlog: day 567. Phone continues to ring. That bitch in my stomach needs to answer it, or things are going to get ugly down in the duodenum, if you know what I mean.

Eyes barely open, I awoke from the sound that is all too familiar on a work day and yearned for the chance to get my grizzly paws around a hot cup of coffee. Ah yes, that dark creamy brew will do just the trick on a day like this. The fire rises.
- @fyrebear

I decided to become the premiere Wolf Life Coach after seeing so many of my brothers and sisters go down the path of blowing houses down for corrupt corporate developers. I taught them to lower the volume of their howling, to channel their chi for more efficient hunting, to cut back on red meat and trans fats, to avoid women in red cloaks. All the money I’ve made has done wonders for my wardrobe: this new sheep-skin overcoat will go great for my Sunday brunches on the Andersons’ farm.

“Leave him alone,” dad snarled, “woodsmen taste too gamy—all tough and pickled in their own testosterone. Do you see the shadows cast by that raging campfire in the “radio-friendly” area? Let’s go bag us some nice juicy metrosexuals.

As i spread my majestic wings i yell into the clouds “Where are my monuments?” These mortal choose ME as their symbol. Am I not worth more then the value of my face, precariously placed upon their monetary ideology.

Did you hear something?
Wait.
Too late.

Between droughts and forest fires, I can’t catch a break! This is one bear that’s going to hibernate soon. I’m so hungry, even these cubs of mine are starting to look. . . good.

I made it back to the cool pond, the one shaded by willows, the one full of the croakers. I feel like crap after my carousing; my nose feels like spongy moss, my eyes are closing up, my muscles ache after that sudden burst of ursine speed that sent me into fight and flight mode. It doesn’t matter anymore, though, I got my prize – a little more of the fuzz of the bee that stung me, and I’m going to be out of it for the rest of the day.

My prey barely holds on to the cliff, his face red as his rifle’s strap cuts into his neck, fingers grasping for a better hold. I stand above him, antlers held high. I bring down my hoof and as he falls away to the green sea of trees below, a hunter was born.

Oh your sweet breath, full of promise and CO2! I want to pierce you with my proboscis, taking your blood and heat. Vulnerable only to your spurning slap, I leave you with a pink histamine release and the memory of my voice buzzing in your ears.
(mosquito)

I ran through the forest, leaving a trail of my blood. I had to stop, to rest, to think. Things weren’t likely to get better.

Like most dudes among the insect population, I’ve got a bum rap.

One look at me and the average hairy mammal assumes I’m headed straight for the wave of carbon dioxide emanating from their heat trap of a “mouth”.

But if these pesky anthropoids gave me half a chance, they’d realize that I’m nothing but a quiet homebody who loves to sip plant nectar and listen to the music of the woodland cricket.

-Paula
@yourvervemag

Whoops! Small grammatical edit:

As I reached the clearing, the pack’s scent finally started to lessen, and Ataneq’s howls grew more distant and less urgent, announcing to the others “This hunt is no longer of interest to our clan. Akira’s banishment is complete, we will let either nature or our enemies finish the job.” But few things remain secret in the cold barrenness of winter, and I knew whatever caused my eventual demise, my spirit would not rest until the truth of Tanaraq’s slaying came to light.

Sorry, I’ve just spotted that whole from the animals POV thing. So, I’ve rewritten it to fit in with that.

Please don’t scold me, I won’t do it again.

———-

‘So how’re you keeping?’ I squeaked to her ‘When are you due?’

She told me that the kittens weren’t due for a few weeks, and gave me a bit of cheese to say sorry for last time.

Her owner then walked back into the room, so once again we had to perform our little act for him.

He keeps her true skin locked in a trunk in the attic, bound with chain and key and three different types of puissant magic. At night she dreams of simple things: honey sweet on her tongue, the reek of pine needles and marmots strong in her nostrils, the red, rich flavor of salmon oily between her jaws. During the day she stands at the kitchen sink with a dishrag hanging limply from one human hand (paw; a great brown paw studded with claws as long and sharp and yellow as slices of the crescent moon) and wonders what the fat around his kidneys will taste like when finally she finds a way out of this leg-hold trap.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?”

I’ve heard your children sing it, and it echoes crazily through my head now as I run desperately across the tundra, away from the helicopters and guns and the bloodied corpse of my mate.

For the truth is I fear you far more than you could ever fear me, and my only hope now is that my children will ever have the chance to sing at all.

Dammit, missed the first-person requirement. Oh well. Shrug.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t ~edit~!

He keeps my true skin locked in a trunk in the attic, bound with chain and key and three different types of puissant magic. At night I dream of simple things: honey sweet on the tongue, the reek of pine needles and marmots strong in my nostrils, the red, rich flavor of salmon oily between my jaws. During the day I stand at the kitchen sink with a limp dishrag hanging from one human hand (paw; a great brown paw studded with claws as long and sharp and yellow as slices of the crescent moon) and wonder what the fat around his kidneys will taste like when finally I find a way out of this leg-hold trap.

I’ll braid your fur, deer-sister, if you’ll cross this fence. I’ll garland your antlers in the moss I’ve combed with my teeth. I’ll sing with you: a star-song, a knowing-song, a song that says together we’ll look the future in the eye, in all our finery.

Humans. They always seem so surprised to see me in their bathroom. Honestly, where else is a bear supposed to go?

Oh, I have to be quieter, somehow, but it’s all so noisy here in this capsule — the sounds are so much larger than the motions! And the spaces so much smaller, you would think this noise could not fit, but it is the largest thing about this place, the noise. I need to chew, to think on this… this tube that leads to the oxygen cylinder looks just about right…

From unbroken lineage; Counts, Lords, Kings, Gods…
I settle, uninvited to her throat; tasting sweat, wine, poor dental hygiene.
And am obliterated, by a heathen hand.

Sometimes the old magic is the best. A full moon, a still night and the sounds of the pack around you. Time to hunt.

The big black wolf was stalking me. I stayed down wind and hid behind some snow covered shrubs, whispering softly, “you won’t eat me tonight, you bastard”. Suddenly, a slight sound from behind, and as I turn around, its mate smiled at me, “Hello bastard”.

I, mouse without name, am being launched into space today. I shall sit concernedly upon a V2 rocket, and be fired towards the stars for human dreams. My ears have heard of questionable parachutes; I do not think I will see home again.

I can hear the pack calling me, their howls echoing through the moonlit woods. I just bury my head beneath my paws and try my best to ignore them. Why can’t they just accept that I’m a vegetarian now?

Megan
@Baliseth

A squawking child with a snot-crusted snout threw a caramel apple at me while flashbulbs exploded throughout the howling crowd and that was it, I snapped. I threw the unicycle to the dirt then, with one swipe of my paw, the leather straps of the muzzle ripped free and I stretched my jaws, releasing a long-suppressed roar. After that it was a blur of blood, screaming, and snapping bones, until their weapons pierced my flank and my world tilted and went dark.

Oops, small edit required:

The big black wolf was stalking me. I stayed downwind and hid behind some snow covered shrubs, whispering softly, “you won’t eat me tonight, you bastard”. Suddenly, a slight sound from behind, and as I turn around, its mate smiled at me, “Hello bastard”.

I have hunted, and I have eaten. I have mated, and now I rest…watching. Life is good.

We all respect our alpha. His fence and his key make him the boss of our pack. I’m going to kill him and take over.

“There’s no way out Ermine, you dirty rat, ” spat Mickey, standing full height to block the entrance. “You and your gang of weasels will never take over another burrow if I have anything to say about it.” The weasel regarded the mouse thoughtfully, and then he ate him.

@LynneFavreau

Smack!

Herbert, my favorite son from last week’s hatching, is now crushed on the palm of the hand of yet another human too stupid to know that male mosquitoes can’t bite.

Brace yourself for some Intravenous West Nile Special, wicked little girl.

When I saw the bits and pieces – the fur, the bones, the soulless eyes staring up from inside a box, I knew I had stumbled far too close to a place no wolf should come upon in life.

The door had been left wide open and the smells emanating from that shack were sickening and peculiarly human, as no animal could create such dense and toxic odors.

And then I saw my sister and my brother (who had been missing for weeks), standing there, stiff, staring into space unmoving, with those soulless glass eyes.

T. Reed – Composer, Writer, Creative @TAOXproductions

And one more:

Dance, they say, and I do, lifting my scarred paws in memory of the hot iron plates they trained me with, the rope jerking painfully through the raw wound in my nose.

But I do not dance for you — I follow the steps of an older dance known only to my kind, for renewal and rebirth, making an offering of my pain to the Bear Mother in hopes that one day, if enough of us dance it, the concrete and buildings, metal and glass, will be sloughed away like a shed winter coat, and the land beneath will be as it was before you came.

One paw in front of the other, no matter how much it hurts: dance, dance, dance.

Chuffing, I step where you stepped, so close, yet you’re unaware. Your young follow you, frolicking behind as you forge smellblnd ahead through the snow. Almost purring, my long tail twitching, I ready myself to pounce.

LOL- spelled my own name wrong! Disregard Begu, she’s my evil twin…

Chuffing, I step where you stepped, so close, yet you’re unaware. Your young follow you, frolicking behind as you forge smellblnd ahead through the snow. Almost purring, my long tail twitching, I ready myself to pounce.

I perch along the sunny ridge studying the unsuspecting humans marching like a parade of ants. They don’t see my paw as big as one of their puny heads; but they hear my mountain lion growl. Watching them scatter is more entertaining than batting around a three-legged rabbit.

BTFO!
~Casz

~@mamacasz66

My meal is surprisingly sedentary. It makes slurred, unintelligible sounds of protest, but I drink my fill, waiting for the swat of a fleshy appendage that would mean my end, but never comes. It’s only after I’ve taken wing, the weight of the drugged, heady blood sloshing about in my gut, that I realize that flying home is going to be more difficult than expected.

From the depths of a watery grave, I emerge. Hunger wracks my shivering frame and I stand naked on the riverbank, tenuously testing my wings in the cool night air. I can smell warm flesh on the wind, and take flight in search for blood. ~@wryson

[OMG, BEARS! Two summers ago, my daughter and her boyfriend set out on an epic driving/camping/hiking journey through the Western Wilderness. Where there were BEARS. And yes, they visited Banff. They took SUCH gorgeous pictures and shared some amazing stories. Mostly about BEARS. I aged ten years, that summer. It pains me now, to imagine myself in the place of the BEAR, but how could I resist the challenge?]

I’m a mother bear and I worry about my cubs, because that’s my job, worrying and defending and feeding my babies. I smell the threat before I see it, hear it as it comes panting and laughing through the thin cold clean air, climbing the winding trail without invitation to my home on the mountain. This pair of humans seems content to drink from the lake, to watch the lowering sun paint the clouds even as I watch them, to nuzzle each other before heading back the way they came, leaving me to worry another day.

@KD_James

Clinging on for dear life, I wrap my antennas around thick coils, matted fur, blood splattered gums that sag with stinking saliva as I buzz my protests. The violent turn of the sow’s head spins me in every direction as I stab and stab at mile-high flesh and fur. I am a mosquito in crisis and should have been born a bee.

Here’s my second, Wolf. More to come…

They used to call me a ghost, preying on humans, hunting their herds – I supplied their nightmares, struggling to avoid their wrath.

Then they called me a menace, called me vermin, hounding my footsteps – gunfire and fear filled my dreams.

Now they call me endangered, at risk, protected – and now I take their sheep without the fear of retribution.
http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com/2012/01/14/wolf/

Wolf

We can smell the caribou, must be half a day away.
Got to run.
Got to eat.

The youngest carefully sniffed at the little box, his nose touched the screen and it bloomed to life.

“Look, mom! It’s Yogi Bear!”

“Thank gods.” The weary bear lumbered away, mumbling, “I need a drink.”

Astrea Baldwin
astrea at mindspring dot com

Cougar

I didn’t waste time as I tore through the forest’s underbrush, sights and scents flying past while I searched frantically for what I’d lost. A growl came from deep in my chest as I thought of the two toddlers that decided to sneak off with each other that night, my own little cub, Toby and his companion, the little furless human, Kiri. As I rounded the trail leading to the meadow deep in the woods, the tightness in my chest relaxed suddenly, the toddlers both frowning at me as I dared intrude on their little late night adventure.

The other mages told me this type of magic was against Mother Nature’s will, that it would curse me forever more. I didn’t want to listen, for the humans had much more powerful magic than us mice-the power to control great, metal beasts! As my squeaks grew to human screams, I suddenly regretted my decision to defy Mother.

Oh, god-oh, god-oh, god-oh, god-oh, god-oh, god-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-cat-cat-cat-cat-cat-cat-run-run-run-run-run oh, god-oh, god-oh, god-oh, god!
Hey, cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese–
Ouch.

those are great, guys!
i’ve got two…

Who needs a pack anyway. And I’m leaving with my head and tail high. I’ll lick my wounds later.

Rabbit at two o’ clock, calculating trajectory. Diving, he’s spotted me and heading for the thicket, faster than anticipated. Abort, abort!

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… formatting. one last time for the cheap seats, cougar!

let’s try [ cougar ] again:
… hunger …
>>> prey!
!! KILL !!

-Eagle-

The light atop the mountain calls to me, so I soar higher towards it. One of the smart-apes has lost his way. Still hungry, I leave the light atop the mountain.

[...] next piece is much smaller and more focused.  The rules are here at Chuck Wendig’s TerribleMinds blog. When Kat cornered me in the pantry clutching armloads [...]

When Kat cornered me in the pantry clutching armloads of seeds to my chest, she screeched for help. Thoughts of my wife and hungry children at home drove me and, unable to see better odds for escape, I darted between Kat’s legs as fast as–THUNK! Seeds flew from my cheeks as I felt something tear and then pain rising up from my back foot, but I didn’t stop running until I reached the comforting darkness of home.

Eden Mabee
@kymele

Cougar

He can feel me – I see his hackles rise in the clearing.

He knows that I am here, lurking in the undergrowth, waiting for my opportunity to pounce.

His lowers his head again to his last meal – I strike.

A follow on from my earlier story: Prey

http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/cougar

10 years and twice as many hearings later, my whiskers are grizzled, my fur is going gray, and I’ve become the kind of big bad scapegoat (scapewolf?) the press loves to hate. Law enforcement was my dream, my whole life — what will I do now? Whose idea was it to send a wolf undercover to check out the Pig Mafia, anyway?

Bear 16

I first learned of people three years ago when I discovered grain near the road that ran through my woods and back then they used to stop to watch me. Then, they called me a pest and brought me here, where I watch them through glass and wander an area from which there is no escape. They tell me I’m one of the lucky ones, but my cage tells me otherwise.

Bighorn

I can feel her eyes on me, I know she’s looking at me, that she wants some of what I’ve got. “Damn, girl, you’re looking fine,” I was strutting, prancing in front of her – until I saw him. Huge horns, he stood his ground, staring me down; I walked away.

http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/big-horn/

Sometimes you just get a craving. Then your head gets stuck in a tree. Why does honey have to be so sweet?

Feeding time on Orbit One was always an ordeal, even when the gravity worked properly. Slava worked the the controls with an enormous shaggy paw directing food to his charges. The humans scratched and bit each other in their rush for the food, utterly ignoring the bear above them.

“This really isn’t how I imagined things,” thought the bear as he stared, sadly, past the bars at the parading crowd of ever-changing children’s faces.

“I thought it would all be honey and adventures.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward and slumped back against the wall, “Bother.”

Hmmm, grass…hmmm….
Is that a mountain lion?
This is ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-d…

I know he is there from the smell and the actions of the other animals. I pretend to eat and wait for him to make his move — click. Darn photographer scaring me like that.

http://polishsnausage.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/buzzed/

This block of Swiss cheese is infinitely larger than it first appeared from the outside. I’ve been chewing for days and the holes I’ve made are indistinguishable from the ones that already existed. I’m going to die here, surrounded by an unsolvable maze of dairy.

This one is about the most humble of mother nature’s creatures, the grizzly bear.

The musty scent of sawdust, made more familiar to me now than the smells of my childhood – the sweet smell of raindrops, the crushing scent of pine-needles at my feet. The smell of the mountains long since replaced with the stagnent, heavy stench of excitement and anticipation. The blue, never-ending sky replaced with flapping canvas; my freedom removed for this life, inprisoned.

http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com

I felt more than I saw my two companions on either side of me as we closed in on it, trapping it against the white rotting hulk of a fallen tree. It was trembling, its eyes focusing on each of us in turn as it registered the fact that we had all the angles covered and there was no escape. Hunger gnawed at the base of my skull as I imagined the way it would taste when we finally closed the gap and ended the chase.

A gentle, sweet smelling wind lifts my body higher into the cool spring air, the sun guiding me to the bright sheen of a fuzzy, supple arm.

I land upon its wrist, the sharp scent of bug spray tickling my nose, but I pay no mind to it and nuzzle up between the long stalks of amber fur that sprout in sparse places across the expanse of human skin.

Slowly, I suck and suck and suck and suck until my abdomen is filled to the bursting, and then I flap my gossamer wings hard and drift back up towards the sun.

Mosquito

It follows me everywhere I go, near constant and deafening, affording me only the briefest and most temporary respite. That buzzing, whining echo filling every moment of my existence. It’s probably just a nuerosis, psychosomatically conjured forth to plague my short days on this earth; but I’m just a mosquito, what would I know?

http://chriswhitewrites.wordpress.com

The stupid, thick collar chafes the scruff of my neck, and my enormous, ridiculously manicured paws rest by my head, unable to help the situation.
The children crawl over my solid, unmoving frame, tumbling to the carpet in front of the fire when they lose their balance, too stupid to hold onto my fur.
Then again, their mother chose a giant wild animal for a household pet, so maybe it’s hereditary.

Here’s my entry called: Golden Eagles that Ride Brown Bears

It’s not really much of a fight because we know where to latch on, at the neck where with one thrust of our beak we can deal a deadly blow.

Just to keep them scared, every once in a baby blue moon we make off with one of their cubs.

We rule with an iron talon and they obey, our furry chauffeurs.

[...] the behest of this post, in support of this project, I offer the following from the perspective of a [...]

This is one of those mornings, when foraging and looking for some breakfast, that the antlers feel particularly heavy.

It’s going to be cold this year, colder than it has been before, and my doe and I need to be ready for that’s coming.

I just want to make sure our fawns are going to be all ri-

At the age of one, farmers attacked my den, taking the lives of my mother, brothers and sisters, leaving me, wolf an orphan, disconnected from my pack and home; like loneliness I roamed. Although weakened, left scarred by the extinguishment of my pack and all that I had come to know I was left with enough teachings to one day aggressively reclaim my dignity. My story is of recovery from forced removal, killing, dislocation, exile, displacement and callous disregard; however, I am free of paralyzing emotions and I am once again a part of a pack preserving nature’s delicate balance.

@tachiinii_woman

Joyce Ann

Mosquito

The approaching light – blue, violet, so tantalizing – takes up the whole of my vision. It is more beautiful than the moon. As I incinerate myself upon it, I wonder: is this what being a firefly feels like?

Twitter handle: @cvasilevski

Bighorn sheep:

Fine, let that other guy take the ewe. I might as well let Darwin have the last word. Besides, the fighting isn’t worth the headache afterwards at all.

Unfortunately, the frozen traffic honking all the way down this mountain can’t see that I’m immobile too, that right now all I’m capable of doing is staring at gravel while my lady paces around me and shrieks at my back.

I tell my lady this is just how it works, you know—one ram challenges another, a violent battle for dominance inevitably ensues—so please stop crying because, come on, I’m not even bleeding that much.

My lady’s missing the real point here, which is that I’m the indisputable victor, and as soon as this guy helps me unhook my forehead from the front of his Dodge she and I are going to be very happy together.

All righ, I’ll bite. I’m Liz Schroeder, @danzierlea on the tweets. Two submissions.

Subject: the eagle.

Eyesight isn’t everything. To get the big picture, I must distance myself from it; I climb for the stratosphere. Oh look, I can see my aerie from here!

*******
Subject: the cougar

When that funny-lookin’ deer walks past this rock, I’m gonna jump on him. Wait…wait…now! Aww–this isn’t a–hey, let me out of here!

Bear 71

We were the finest of all creatures, loving the mountains, streams and forests deep.

I thought that we had time enough to cross the iron rails, but I was wrong.

Mournful, my child and I, who were not finished being bears.

[...] is in response to a terribleminds.com challenge http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/13/flash-fiction-challenge-three-sentences-for-bear71/commen…  to write three sentences from the anthropomorphic first person POV of a wild animal for a [...]

I’m not afraid of those creatures Ma calls ‘human’, “Be aware and remember they have guns.” she’s always sayin’ this to me. Well, when I grow up – I’m gonna scare every last one of them and when I’m done, Ma can pick any garden she wants to.

Mosquito

I fed today but it was strange and left me feeling empty and a dull ache started within me. The man was moving and seemed to be like any other but his smell was off and before I left he began eating one of the other humans. He seemed to be enjoying it so maybe I’ll give them another try but closer to the city this time.

With the night beginning and my hunger growing stronger, I swoop and dive, riding the air currents, smelling the smoke of the grill and human sweat, looking for my meal.

A giant of a man is standing nearby in a grease covered apron, completely unaware of me as I move closer, listening to the promising sound
of blood pumping through his veins.

Closing the distance between us, a nearby blue light grabs my attention and as curiosity gets the better of me, I fly closer and closer…BZZZ!

I’m high, high in the sky, that’s me, high and above everyone else.

Oh look down there, it’s land creatures, not so high as me.

I wonder what would happen if I pooped on them?

Black talons have snared the mouse, pierced its flesh, yet the tiny creature manages to whisper one last request to the stone-faced bird. “Please, tell me what it’s like up there, flying high above the world.”
“Lonely,” says the eagle as he snaps the mouse’s neck.

[...] weeks Flash Fiction challenge over at terribleminds.com is to write a three-sentence story from the perspective of an animal. I was surprised by how [...]

He tilted his head back and to the side, staring with one eye at the other ram. A nearby ewe flinched away as they clashed, horns slamming together with a dry clack. Sounds of their combat echoed through the dry autumn air until the other ram staggered away, defeated at last.

—
Criticism highly welcome – http://kaimicheals.com/wp/?p=16

Get around. Get around. I get around.

(imagine a Beach Boys tune playing in your head in the background)

I do not believe in the monster in the deeps, of which my mother told me when I was a calf, that will crush you inaudibly, so that you cannot sing even as the searching cries of the pod so near above you resound. I do not believe in its tentacles; I do not believe in its grinding teeth. I dive in song, soon to return.

Each morning, the mouse crept to the edge of his hole to listen to the princess sing. Her melodious strains about the prince of her dreams filled him with a longing he couldn’t describe. But he thought it strange to sing about a prince who never came.

emilycaseysmusings at gmaildotcom

I woke to the sound, like the mountain falling piece by piece into the valley below. I could only watch, as I had watched his father, and his father before him; bloody ambition streaked down his nose, his pride like his horns, chipped and broken. “Not today, son.” [BIGHORN SHEEP]

As I have gathered my strength, I have had much time to reflect on my brothers and sisters long gone. On the hatreds and emnities that consumed them – but then, I have no choice in the matter. The only way I can counter bad blood is to bite the hand that feeds. [MOSQUITO]

And my twitter handle is @ruthmidget. Thanks!

Let the blood drip over my paws as I glanced over into the extended pupils of the dying welp. Simple soul. No way for me to tell it the compassion I felt for its trembling shell of a life.

The bigger bucks didn’t take me seriously, so I joined their rutting tourney.
All the herd leader did was dip his head, and I ran.
What a rack!

[...] week’s challenge — “Three Sentences For Bear71” is up. I’ll keep folks updated on that page if any are selected and incorporated into [...]

I’m'a bear, I’m'a bear, I’m'a big dancing happy bear! I like berries, yes I do, yes I do like berries and I’m stuffing all the berries into my mouf as fast as I can because I’m'a bear and I like berries, oh yes I do, I dance for berries, look at my berry dance, dance, dance, I’m'a bear, nom nom nom!

Great, you’re a bear Frank, we all know that because we’re all bears, not stop doing your stupid berry dance and get to eating, we have a long winter ahead of us, which makes me so happy you’re in another gorram den than I am because I can’t stand your stupid hibernate dance either.

They brought a second one home! The new meowing beast is bigger than the first, and towers between me and the food. I mutter a prayer and launch myself between its paws, hoping to grab the cracker as I slide past.

Twitter: @GabrielRumbaut

Gabriel Rumbaut

The people keep talking about a “black death,” but I don’t know. I think I’ll write home and tell my family to come on the next ship. This place is paradise for a rat–so much food!

Twitter: @GabrielRumbaut

Gabriel Rumbaut

I didn’t think it was spring yet, but the smell of food was intoxicating. The entrance to my cave passed by in a blur, and before I knew it, I stood before a circle of little ones. One saw me and they all ran, leaving me to eat alone, as always.

@junefaramore

Even though victory comes at a cost and will not be realized immediately, my efforts are not in vain. The deadly virus I carry within my being is the ultimate weapon against the homo sapiens who seek to destroy my kind. One sting before I die, and we will prevail – eventually.

[...] Written for a Friday Flash Fiction Challenge by Chuck Wendig: “Three Sentences for Bear 71″ [...]