Five things, the last!
For panthera_onca, original flash fiction:
Five people whose lives were ruined by monotremes
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1004:
Frankie bet on anything in Vegas. Big money, but hell, mammals didn't lay eggs.
"You're on."
1008:
"But officer, I thought they were hedgehogs."
She'd sold thirty of them to pet stores across the state of Florida before the first set had started breeding. A frantic Google search of "fucking egg-laying hedgehogs" had come up with some Australian animal called an Echidna, but it was too late. Felipe was nowhere to be found, and the feds were already at her door.
10014:
Candace waved a Sunday Globe in his face before he could even close the office door.
"What were you thinking? We'll never get the green vote now!"
"What?" He grabbed the paper, which Candace relinquished in disgust. She smoothed her red business skirt, like she always did when she was angry. It took a second to pull his gaze away from those gorgeous legs and focus on the headline:
LOCAL CANDIDATE FEASTS ON ENDANGERED YOUNG
"What the hell?"
Candace picked at perfectly manicured fingernails. "You were in Sydney last week--"
"For a fundraiser--"
"--You were in Sydney and someone offered you platypus eggs and you accepted!"
"It was a delicacy! They're endangered?"
"How many platypi have you ever seen, Mark?"
"I didn't know! Someone must've set me up--"
"Oh my God!" She stomped a spiked heel. "For once will you take responsibility for your mistakes?"
"It's not my fault!"
That was the wrong thing to say. Before he could smile and settle her down, Candace was shoving papers at her oversized leather organizer and breezing past him into the hallway.
"It's over. Everything's over."
The door slammed. Mark tossed his briefcase to his desk.
She'd be back.
10011:
It was the year 36555, the Treaty of Panatea had been in effect for a good decade, and Hector should've known better. He skidded around a corner a split second ahead of a pulse blast, cursing his stupid mouth. You didn't talk family with Enkadans. They had way too many abandonment issues, and the ones that hatched and managed to survive the milk farms had no sense of humor. So you certainly didn't make veiled innuendos about their mothers.
Lucky for him they waddled slowly, or he'd be dead. But they also had all of his smuggled cargo, and his ship. He caught his breath and sagged against the wall. Nothing doing; he'd have to stow away somewhere and start over.
1003:
"Monotremes. M, O, N, O, T, R, E, A..."
Five people whose lives were ruined by monotremes
-------------------------------------------------------------
1004:
Frankie bet on anything in Vegas. Big money, but hell, mammals didn't lay eggs.
"You're on."
1008:
"But officer, I thought they were hedgehogs."
She'd sold thirty of them to pet stores across the state of Florida before the first set had started breeding. A frantic Google search of "fucking egg-laying hedgehogs" had come up with some Australian animal called an Echidna, but it was too late. Felipe was nowhere to be found, and the feds were already at her door.
10014:
Candace waved a Sunday Globe in his face before he could even close the office door.
"What were you thinking? We'll never get the green vote now!"
"What?" He grabbed the paper, which Candace relinquished in disgust. She smoothed her red business skirt, like she always did when she was angry. It took a second to pull his gaze away from those gorgeous legs and focus on the headline:
LOCAL CANDIDATE FEASTS ON ENDANGERED YOUNG
"What the hell?"
Candace picked at perfectly manicured fingernails. "You were in Sydney last week--"
"For a fundraiser--"
"--You were in Sydney and someone offered you platypus eggs and you accepted!"
"It was a delicacy! They're endangered?"
"How many platypi have you ever seen, Mark?"
"I didn't know! Someone must've set me up--"
"Oh my God!" She stomped a spiked heel. "For once will you take responsibility for your mistakes?"
"It's not my fault!"
That was the wrong thing to say. Before he could smile and settle her down, Candace was shoving papers at her oversized leather organizer and breezing past him into the hallway.
"It's over. Everything's over."
The door slammed. Mark tossed his briefcase to his desk.
She'd be back.
10011:
It was the year 36555, the Treaty of Panatea had been in effect for a good decade, and Hector should've known better. He skidded around a corner a split second ahead of a pulse blast, cursing his stupid mouth. You didn't talk family with Enkadans. They had way too many abandonment issues, and the ones that hatched and managed to survive the milk farms had no sense of humor. So you certainly didn't make veiled innuendos about their mothers.
Lucky for him they waddled slowly, or he'd be dead. But they also had all of his smuggled cargo, and his ship. He caught his breath and sagged against the wall. Nothing doing; he'd have to stow away somewhere and start over.
1003:
"Monotremes. M, O, N, O, T, R, E, A..."