Wait! I Wrote That? (A Collection of Old, Horrific Stories)

Story 35: Messummer (Our True Hero's 4th Spotlight) (Finale)

Song: "If I Rise" - Dido & A.R. Rahman

Genre (s): Short Story/Science Fiction

Written When? Senior Year of College

        "Messummer, what are you doing?" Mom's harsh voice passed through the tallest rock towers of the Valley of Green. It held so much power that I almost fell off the disjointed ledge down to the watering hole. It ran through the heart of the valley. The constant rays from the sun and blue sky made that river the clearest one yet.

I peered over my furry, brownish-gray shoulder at my mother, but I almost poked her with my sharp beak. "What does it look like, Mom? I'm practicing for the Great Flying Race. These wings are ready for action." I opened my long, membrane-covered wings and showed off my muscles, as well as the three claws at my elbow joints.

"And how many times do I have to tell you?" Mom bumped my red crest with her delicate chin. "You're not old enough to fly in it."

"I'm two years old! Give me a break! Watch this." Without asking for permission, I let myself drop off the ledge's side.

"Messummer! Messummer! Oh, you are in so much trouble!" Mom dug her claws into the dirt that surrounded our nest–where I once had my four brothers and sisters, but then a sharp-toothed monster with scrawny arms ate them.

Not to mention the Volcanic Lowlands incinerated my dad when he tried to confront the beast. Now, it was just Mom and me.

I flipped onto my front and held my wings out to my sides. The warm air currents gushed through them, giving me lift. I flew under the vast blueness: through archways that jutted out from other rock towers, and white clouds that temporarily blinded me. Yet, I relied on my instincts to find the invisible path, and it took me to the green forest below.

I landed gently and skewered the moist sand with my claws. Speckles of sunlight washed over every inch of my large body: my skinny legs, fur, and small, hole-like ears. "How's that, Mom?" I called into the atmosphere.

No answer. She did not follow me down. I wondered why. Perhaps she was finally giving me some leeway? I hoped so because... Wait, what was that? My nostrils picked up something... something fresh... something tasty. Eggs, my favorite. Where was that smell coming from? Over there by the tall grass? Over there by the Yellow Meadow? Over–oh, there they were.

The nest was completely exposed and bundled up in a cluster of leaves next to a small river that fed into the watering hole. Three, large eggs waited for me. It wasn't their whiteness that grabbed my attention; it was the black spots that dotted each egg. My beak would soon puncture those little eyes. Blind your prey, first, and then make your move. That's what Dad taught me before he died.

I kept my claws in the dirt–to help with my balance–and tiptoed to the nest, hiding behind an overgrown bush. Now all I had to do was wait. Luckily, it wasn't for long.

Cracks appeared in one of the eggs. A tiny, three-toed foot appeared, and then another one, then a tail, and finally, a head. The sharp-toothed baby flipped onto his backside. A squeaky growl left his lips. Too bad, dude, but no parents meant no protection. If I was going to get him, then right there was my chance. Or not.

"PPMC, what have you done?" The sky shook with the shrill. It scared my prey back into his egg. Except, he had a hard time covering himself with the egg pieces; his arms were so short.