| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 13, 2020 |
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100 words: Chased by a sadistic, evil entity.
The Claw
by LisaMay
‘The Claw’ was catching up to her!
Goggle-eyed with fright, Jennifer threw a tortured glance behind her. She could see the creature’s filthy, pearlised talons flexing with evil intent, ready to grip her and carry her off to its lair. Terror clutched Jennifer, rising through leaden limbs to her constricted throat, then prickling her scalp.
Just when ‘The Claw’ was about to touch her trembling skin, Jennifer’s brother hooted with laughter as he waved the dead chicken’s foot at her.
“Chase me again!” squealed Jennifer, through sobs of childish delight. She was pleased she hadn’t peed her pants this time.
True Story Flash contest entry
‘The Claw’ was catching up to her!
Goggle-eyed with fright, Jennifer threw a tortured glance behind her. She could see the creature’s filthy, pearlised talons flexing with evil intent, ready to grip her and carry her off to its lair. Terror clutched Jennifer, rising through leaden limbs to her constricted throat, then prickling her scalp.
Just when ‘The Claw’ was about to touch her trembling skin, Jennifer’s brother hooted with laughter as he waved the dead chicken’s foot at her.
“Chase me again!” squealed Jennifer, through sobs of childish delight. She was pleased she hadn’t peed her pants this time.
 Recognized |
Author's Note:
(Story word count = 100)
This was a game my brother and I played when we were young. We used to keep hens in our back yard. After Dad had killed a chicken for the pot, my brother got one of its feet and chased me around the back yard while pulling on the leg tendon to make the claws flex in and out. It looked like the severed leg was still alive. I'd let my imagination overpower me, and would flee, screaming, from that fierce dragon.
My brother got a bit bored with the game when he realised I wasn't too scared after all, and Mum was certainly pleased when I stopped wetting my pants.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. (Story word count = 100)
This was a game my brother and I played when we were young. We used to keep hens in our back yard. After Dad had killed a chicken for the pot, my brother got one of its feet and chased me around the back yard while pulling on the leg tendon to make the claws flex in and out. It looked like the severed leg was still alive. I'd let my imagination overpower me, and would flee, screaming, from that fierce dragon.
My brother got a bit bored with the game when he realised I wasn't too scared after all, and Mum was certainly pleased when I stopped wetting my pants.
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