A piece of super-short fiction - wacky, super-short fiction.
I was walkin' to work, whistlin' away down that windin' north end road, hopin' to git picked up and drove to the harbour in time for work when, around a sharp bend, four baby minks, cute as Star Wars ewoks, come flowin' like a tide from outta the woods and I thought to myself, "Well, this ain't gonna be the first time I'll be givin' some crazy-ass excuse as to why I'm late for work!"
"Well, you see boss, I was walkin' down the road when these baby minks..."
Yeah. This weren't gonna go well but what could I do? Gotta tell ya, them minks gotta strange smell about 'em, somethin' like a polecat but not as strong and they make a sound like a squeeze toy and I couldn't just leave 'em to git runned over. I figured their mama must be waitin' on 'em in the woods, so I start to wavin' my arms in the air like a dang fool, tryin' to git them babies off the road. I heard a car comin' far off but I just couldn't leave 'em their to git smucked. Just wouldn't be right but dang that car were gettin' close.
Them newspaper folk had a field day with my demise. The headline in the paper read, "Man versus Mink - Fur Real" on how the mama mink done hissed and chased the police down as I lay there dead on that road, them babies off safe in the woods, squeakin' their fool heads off.
Oh well, didn't like my job much anyway....
-Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013.