May 11, 2012
Anthony Elmore

Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge – Over the Top Pulp Insanity

Chuck said to throw down on the Pulp craziness. I don’t know if this is pulp but I think I need to check into “Case del Loco” for a while and step into a nice Thorazine bath. This week on the Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge…

“This is all happened because they gave Giraffes the right to vote.” Mick said as he loaded a 50 caliber iridium shell into his hand gun. The gun itself had replaced his forearm, using his femur as its stock. It made aiming a dream, showers cumbersome.

To prevent Dolly from going hysterical, he slapped her with his left hand. She then went hysterical so he slapped her again, kissed her hard, slapped her again and then smoked.

At the gates of the Zoo the scent of burnt cotton candy and a menudo of animal shit assaulted his nose like a pack of starved weimaraners. “First you give them the same rights as a man, then they start doing crimes.”

A pore on Mick’s forehead dilated, sending Dolly into another hysterical fit. He slapped hard.

Mick existed the police van, leaving Molly to another hysterical fit. He stood 8 feet tall, his pneumatic stilts adding three feet to his height. He cocked his hand-gun and approached the Zoo gates. The Zoo had been off limits since Dr. Droidberg’s Awareness Bomb misfired and hit the Zoo. Intended to give all kitchen appliances intelligence and self-awareness, it gave the Zoo animals human intelligence and a misguided belief that they had the same rights. Like horde of pox infected Mongols, the insisted on the right to vote, self-determination, interspecies marriage and service at some of the city’s finer restaurants.

“Giraffes, they’re just not good decision makers,” Mick mumbled as the gate neared. “Lions. Now they’re good Republicans.”

A zebra security guard approached. “Halt. You’re entering an interspecies area,” he said through a vocalizer, a box attached to his thorax that translated his thoughts into human speech.

Mick flashed his badge. “Animal Control. The Trans-Species Committeehas given me clearance to pursue an ostrich that had been lifting banks in Sapien territory.” Mick showed him his warrant.

“Proceed, Sapien, but don’t forget here the Animals run the Zoo,” the zebra guard said.

The Zoo was as he remembered it as a child. A brachwork of walkways extended through a variety of exhibits. The animals lived much like they did before and stuck to their areas. Lions lazed in their fake savannahs and the orangutans nattered suspiciously from their tree swings. The cages had no doors or bars. The Animals roamed as pedestrians.

However, in the trees, the Chimp Police took the safeties off their poop cannons and kept him in their sights.

Now past the mammalian district, he entered the avian district. A vile cacophony of screeches, sqawks and chirps played on his eardrum like Buddy Rich on a coke bender. The birds were especially territorial and had ditched singing for rapping.

He passed a cardinal’s roost and it rapped, “Yo’ Animal Control, keep your presence on down low. Youse in Avian space, you don’t be showing yo’ face.”

Mick swatted at the quatrain spewing turd bomber and it flew away. “Punk ass Sapien!” it screeched.

He approached an area cordoned off by a chain link fence where a ragged sign read, “Ostrich Exhibit.” As he cautiously glanced around an authoritative looking ostrich approached the gate. “What’s your business here?” she said.

“I’m here to apprehend a suspect in a bank robbery in Sapien territory.”

“Banks? What do we need with money? We have our own grain and insect farms. We certainly don’t need your resources, except when I want to take my husband out for dinner.”

“That’s for the judge to determine. I’m just here to bring him in.”

Several other ostriches ran toward him. He looked at their long legs that ended with a  sharp claw. Once kick and he’d be picking up his intestines like greasy balloon animals. “I have photo of him.”

He showed her the photo and she squawked in annoyance. “That’s not an ostrich. That’s an Emu. Can’t you sapiens tell your flightless birds apart?”

Mick inspected the photo. She was right. “Can you tell me where the Emu exhibit is?”

I used to catch real criminals. Real Animals. Damn those mad scientist with their bombs. Damn Professor Mask U. Lynne and the EstroBomb that made women go hysterical at the slights threat.

                Night was falling and the last thing he wanted was to be in the Zoo after dark. “Bats. Hate em’.”

The Emu corral was next to the ostrich exhibit. Emus looked like palm fronds with bird feet and head. He looked at his photo and noticed there was only one Emu in the corral who was leafing through a pulp crime magazine, turning the pages with his beak. That simplified things.

The Emu’s head shot rod straight when Mick approached. “You, by the authority of the Trans-Species Committee, I am placing you under arrest.

“Oh, Shit.” The emu did and ran away toward the back of the corral. Mick pursued him and cornered him.

“Look. I was just having some fun. I didn’t need the money. It didn’t even taste good. C’mon. I’m the last Emu here and I was bored. Gimme a break.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m taking you in.”

The emu pecked at him, but Mick dogged each attempt. “I’m warning you.” Mick cocked his hand-gun.

“You’ll never take me alive, copper!”

“Your wish is my command.” Mick fired and the bird exploded into bits of bloodied feathers.

“Presto!”

Mick turned to see several animals surrounding him. Mick knew it was all over. Damn the liberal giraffe vote.

“Never liked him much,” the ostrich said. “Always going on about being the last. They should’ve give the Emus the right to vote. Always voting for some ridiculous third party. And his table manners.”

Back in the van, Mick cleaned himself up. “How did feathers get in the back of my pants? I’m never going to get that smell out of my fedora.”

A leaf landed on the windshield and Dolly went hysterical. Mick slapped her and then drove back to the safe, warm and animal odor free auspices of Sapien territory.

 

4 Comments

  • I don’t know if this is your problem or mine, but it made sense to me. I like a good bird hunting story. (Does that sound racist?)

  • I think the ostriches were prejudiced against Australians.

  • I just finished reading Farting In Church. I really enjoyed it, I couldn’t put my kindle fire down. It reminded me of growing up and the experiences I have had. Anthony Elmore seems down to earth and is a very good writer. He has gained another fan.

  • Thanks a lot, Donna.

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