Zwi dangled a larger stick, several inches long. Unlike the tufts of grass, it didn’t burst alight just from proximity to the seething red hole. Zwi twitched it back and forth. It worked for cats, right?
White-hot claws darted out and snatched the twig from his hands. It seared to ash. The claw receded back into the metal container, which glowed just that little bit brighter.
“Zwi!” snapped his father from the front of the cart. “Stop teasing the engine!”
“Sorry, Pa.” Zwi scrambled away, casting a glance back at the clattering mechanism… and the pulsing canister at its core.
DP FICTION #5: “Not a Bird” by H.E. Roulo
5 hours ago