Thursday, August 6, 2009

Flash Fiction Scrap #4

It wasn't so much that he loved the weather. It was more that it was consistent; the chattering of the afternoon storms on his shelter was one of his few comforts. Turnips, some spring onions, and scraggly rosemary bush were the staples of his diet, as well as the occasional crawling and hopping things. He hadn't had a poor reaction yet, though the blue hopping ones made his mouth itch. He knew one thing for certain—he'd never use a budget agency again.

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