This was a fun little short story I wrote years ago in a coffee shop, thinking of what I could write as a short story using a short subject as the basis for telling the tale.
I remember glancing around at the tables at either side searching for something to inspire me by. That's how it goes for coming up with ideas. It either hits you or you search for it by looking around the corners and peeling back what might be hidden or just out of sight until you uncover it.
All around me others clacked away at keyboards, took sips from foaming drinks, or nibbled on pastry foods.
Then, from above the door of the coffee shop, staring back at me, I saw what inspired the following.
Enjoy.
GOOEY STUFF
I love to fly!
There is just something about zooming to new destinations, or familiar ones depending on the quality of the atmosphere, but mostly, it’s the food scene that I get the most excited to get to.
It all goes back to food really.
You might visit a place with amazingly aromatic bits to nibble on only to find it no longer there later.
Sense of time alludes me.
But back to flying. It…is…the…BEST! I love it!
I like to be around people. To listen in their conversations. Just hanging around like a…well…
Most people, upon noticing me, tend to blow me off. I’m a small fellow, you know!?
I tend to hide in corners for my safety. I like to be more heard than seen. But once I’m noticed, BAM! Lights out. Game over, man! Game over!
I only wish to be around them. Listening, watching, searching for the things they gobble up and drop down. I don’t care if it’s half-eaten, untouched, or no longer wanted. I’ll eat it no problem.
And I’ll invite others looking for a quick bite to join in. That is, if they also don’t mind being around others just like me.
Animals. Now those are my people. Except the slimy ones. Those guys have a habit of biting. And us types don’t tend to survive bites.
The house pets are just fine by me. Cats might paw, as they are ones to do, but mostly are just having fun chasing after me as I fly about. I enjoy the way cats have fun. And boy do I like to have fun.
By flying, of course.
Being one who loves to fly means you must absolutely watch out for the bad situations that come with the act of flying. That is to say, the dangers that come with flying where unwelcome trouble can creep up on you in an instant.
The trouble could be other things that fly. Or, more worrisome for us free-explorers, colliding with those large metal things the humans get into and end up a splattered mess going down I-35 at 60-MPH. Now that’s just an embarrassing way to go out.
Currently, I’m perched on a wall in the alley of a sweet-smelling place, waiting for the gooey stuff to be dropped off. I’ve been here before, many times actually, if I’m being honest.
My arms rub back and forth in excitement as the door finally opens.
A large, heavy-set man brings a trash bag full of the gooey stuff outside. He looks like someone who enjoys the gooey stuff too, by the size of him.
The large man drops the bag in the waste bin, grunts, and disappears inside the sweet place.
I ready my descent.
My eyes dart cautiously—making certain the bounty of gooey will all be mine to enjoy.
To savor its splendid joy of sweetness.
When no one and nothing peeks its head out, I set a collision course for the bin.
I bounce off the wall. Wings hurry to get what is mine.
But I’m suddenly no longer moving. I glance beneath me for what looks to be a million miles away, it seems.
Time and distance allude me.
I thrust my body forward only to be propelled slightly before rocking back into a still nothingness. I’m floating somehow.
Odd.
My wings twitch but do not give flight. Then I see…them.
Eight slender black legs slink effortlessly atop the terrible mess of the sticky stuff I’m stuck to. I blink in panic and now there are bright red eyes peering over my body.
The creature comes into focus in all its hairy form. It grins at me, exposing fangs. It bows into a menacing ball and turns its head away as it spins more of the white stuff on me.
I’m turned rapidly in the sticky stuff as the creature runs its legs around my body. The creature is frantically pushing and pulling as its stringy stuff is tightening me further into the sticky—the image of the trashcan with its delicious waste fades from my view until I’m completely wrapped in the sticky stuff.
Gooey stuff wasn’t on the menu today.
I was.