Posted in flash fiction

Always the Kettle

It’s the tea kettle, always the tea kettle.

Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?

Zero.

She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.

Such a tea slut.

The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.

Don’t move.

Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.

And probably a corpse.

A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen. 

Don’t breathe.

Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.

Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?

Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.

Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.

Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Word Count: 200

For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?

Author:

Letters from inside my head

4 thoughts on “Always the Kettle

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