Fleet are his feet as he flies down the street, fleeing the shouts, fur a blur of red. She awaits him with their three tiny balls of fluff, eyes closed and sleepy. Shaking dew from his whiskers he greets her with a mouth full of chicken stolen for his family.
Eleanor Buffam is an interdisciplinary visual artist, writer, and musician based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She has published short fiction in Fifty Word Stories, Inlandia Journal, Moonpark Review, and the speculative anthology Constellations of Being, and has recently been longlisted for the Oxford Flash Fiction prize.
Elegant and sharply written. It was a joy to read.
Thank you!
beautifully captured-the moment and the chicken! x
Thanks Joanna!
p.s., Apparently the site stripped out my link for security purposes. If you do a YouTube search on either “The Fox” or “The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night” you should be able to hear interpretations by Harry Belafonte and Pete Seeger. among many others.
Hmmm… It looks like the site not only stripped my original post of its link, but it decided that because of that link it wouldn’t accept the post at all. Basically, what I had said in it was that I liked your story and that it reminded me of an old English folk song that dates back at least to the 15th century.