Leftovers

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.


The prompts: This story must contain the words: rose, home, secret


Leftovers

The large furry head rose slowly up and above the edge of the dining room table. It stopped when the eyes were exactly level with the large plate of turkey leftovers. Drool spilled over the edge of the perfectly stationary dog’s mouth. There was no helping that.

Max knew that time was of the essence. He had to strike quickly while everyone was out of the room. Still, to rush in would almost certainly result in failure. Failure meant a hail of “Bad Dog” and banishment to the backyard.

So far, all was going according to plan. He made sure he was last seen sleeping in one of the back rooms. Alibi – Check.

He waited until the target was on location and the dining room empty. Logistics – Check.

Now came the most important step, the secret to success. Ninja-like, he gently climbed up onto a chair and then leaned over as far as he could. He had to be positioned just right or else the plate would be moved leaving evidence of his crime behind.

Carefully, he lowered his head until his chin was almost resting on the edge of the plate. Without taking his eyes off of the entrance to the dining room, he began to eat. There was no time for chewing; that was for amateurs anyway. Huge chunks could be seen from the outside as they slide down the inside.

With the plate clean, he figured he was home free. He had to be in the back room before they returned.

That was when he saw it. For Napoleon, it was Waterloo. For Max, it was stuffing. It was not part of the plan so he called an audible.

Just one bite.

“Bad Dog!”

Outside, he burped up a turkey wing. Mission accomplished.

The Captain's Coup

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: grapes, feather, velvet

The Captain's Coup

The king broke wind with such ferocity that the Captain of the Guard momentarily thought the castle may have come under attack. Thankfully, Captain Josten was able to resheath his sword before any of his men noticed.

Josten smiled inwardly at the irony of his action. Ever the soldier, he had been instantly ready to lay down his life in defense of the castle and it’s King. Now that the threat of danger had passed, he was equally ready to follow through with his planned bloodless coup.

Just look at him over there, Josten thought. He lies on feather pillows stuffing his fat face while his subjects starve.

Without conscious thought, Josten’s sharp eyes panned around the expansive room. Every face had a name, every name had been checked and rechecked. Everyone was there that should be. None were there that didn’t belong. There would be no threat to the king while Josten was in charge.

Perhaps better said – no threat to the king that Josten wasn’t in charge of.

The night went on as revelers reveled and Jesters jested. They were all pigs in the eyes of Captain Josten. They were also very secure while under his care -with the one exception.

Four bells sounded the midnight hour. The main courses were taken away as scantily clad maidens brought out more wine to go with the newly arrived cheese and plates of fruit. The fat fingers of the aristocracy grabbed at everything.

One especially fair maiden approached the king from the wings. She carried a small velvet covered pillow topped with grapes. The king snorted hungrily as he groped the maiden. With delicate fingers, she plucked a grape and fed it to the king who sucked it down hungrily.

Two more should do it my love, Josten thought.