Friday Fictioneers, August 3, – The Orchard


“Mom, Skippy is sick.”

“Come here, Skippy. Let’s see.”

Skippy whimpered and whined, lifting his paw to scratch at his eyes releasing a discharge. Saliva spilled from his mouth. His muzzle was warm, sweaty.

“Something’s wrong with him. I’m calling the vet. He may be infected with something. Where have you both been today?”

“At the old orchards. There is something rotten, funny looking growing over there. Skippy stepped in the stuff, then licked his paws.”


“There.” He pointed.

Flies buzzed around the biochemical waste site, rotting vines oozing a porous, bubbling mutating slime, consuming, spreading its deadly disease.



Posted August 2, 2012 by Joyce in Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Fiction

Tagged with ,

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