The Leaf Eater

I told them I was scared of flying but they didn’t listen, they just drugged and chained me and now here I am thousands of miles from home in a cage; a thin, wire mesh is all that separates me from them, I kneel down and bury my face in the wet leaves, begging them to release me, ‘Please, please, my wife, my children, they’re waiting from me across the ocean, they’re hungry.’ I say, but they just laugh.

One of them holds out a leaf and says, ‘Look at it eating the dirt, how cute! Do you think he will eat this? It even looks like him.’ I press myself against the mesh and they jump back, ‘Please, you must help me, my family is dying.’ I say.

But her companion just drags her away, ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘it’s just some dumb, ugly animal — seen one, you’ve seen them all — we’ll be late for the theatre.’; I lie back on the damp earth and think of my wife and children again as the light dims and the sound of rain falling over me drowns out their laughter.

© 2016 Occasional Dreams
In response to: Three Line Tales, Week Forty-Three
Image by Sandis Helvigs

Thanks as always to Sonya at for organising and coordinating these three line tales each week.


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