This was last weeks submission to the Mid-Week Blues Buster, it won second place, which is very exciting!
You’ve been flashed.
I feel bad about it. Really, I do. But it just couldn’t be helped. I loved her first, you see, and everything was great until he came along.
I’d loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. Long black hair so thick I could almost vanish inside of it. I loved the way it looked fanned out around us as we lay in bed after we finally got together. I was in seventh heaven in those days, never believing anything could change how great we were together.
But then it did. I don’t understand why. She never gave any indication of why. We woke that fateful morning, we cuddled, stretched, yawned and purred as we always did. She went out, which happens often, but she brought someone back with her that day and nothing was the same after that. From that point on I had to share. I got half the lovin I was used to and my share of the couch went from 1/2 to 1/3.
So you see, I had to kill him. There was no other way. I planned it so carefully, and pulled it off without a hitch. I hid the body, dragging it out into the backyard and dragging it deep into the thick shrub at the back of the yard. I even cleaned up all the tufts of fur I’d yanked out during the fight, not that it was much of a fight. Damn fool never saw it coming, he was dead almost before he even realized he was under attack.
I’d figured once I got rid of the upstart things would return to normal and that first night everything did. She mentioned him once or twice but showed only mild concern. But then she became increasingly agitated and worried. To my frustration she spent most of the following day and evening out looking for him, calling his name and shaking the treat bag to coax him back to her. I should have known it wouldn’t stop there.
When she pulled out the charm I knew I was in trouble. But goddamn if I didn’t forget just how special my girl was. She had powers, witchy powers, and she was hell bent on finding him. And I knew she would. And then she’d come looking for me. There was only one thing I knew that could protect me from witchcraft, and that brings me to the here and now.
I can hear her hungry panting and the soft pad of her bare feet as she aproaches. I can smell her too, the stink of the devil on her, the scent of murder. She aims to kill me just like I killed him. I’m huddled under the coop, both the cockerel’s eyes held gently on my tongue, spit dripping down my chin because I’m too afraid to swallow. Without those eyes I am lost.
I can see her feet. All the hair on my body stretches upright as she begins chanting. I’ve been her familiar for years, but I don’t know the language of spellcraft. I pray the stories about cockerel eyes protecting against witchcraft are true.
Her hands drop down near her feet and one black eye appears, staring through me as the chanting becomes increasingly feverish. My heart is pounding, like to leap out my chest.
A brilliant flash of light exploded in my face and when it cleared I was relieved to find I was still breathing. But things looked weird. Everything seemed dramatically bigger than it had before.
“Have fun mousie mousie.” Her voice was husky and clipped. “I’ll bring a new cat tomorrow. Enjoy the time you have left.”
I looked down and where I used to have black furred paws I saw tiny naked feet. The stories had not been true after-all, I had loved her, been by her side for all those years, and that bitch turned me into a fucking mouse.
I looked up at the now enormous corpse of the young cock, it’s empty eye sockets seeming to glare at me accusingly. “Damn your eyes!” I wanted to scream in rage but the only sound was an angry sounding squeak.