Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Vultures

Vultures. That's what they are, stinking vultures. They circle me, eying my defenseless body, before they swarm. A battle ensues, sometimes all out warfare. They shriek and push each other, but usually the oldest female dominates.

I attempt to shrink back into the corners of my pen as she approaches. It's no use, those cold, sharp scavenger eyes always find me. Oh Lord, here she comes. It's over, the game is up. Her pointy little beak scrunches up. I can see her biting her lip with those old teeth.

She has some sort of animal skin sack attached to her wrinkly wing. Is that where she's going to chuck my leftovers after she devours me? Oh my... Oh my, No! She's reaching into the sack... She's pulling something out... I can see her glossy red claws shining, coming closer to me. This is the end, I know it. I have to take it, there's no way out.

There is no. Way. Out.

"Paper and plastic, don't pack them heavy and put the cold with the cold. Here's my savings card. "

I hate this job.

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