The Leaf Eater

I told them I was scared of flying but they didn’t listen, they just drugged and chained me and now here I am thousands of miles from home in a cage; a thin, wire mesh is all that separates me from them, I kneel down and bury my face in the wet leaves, begging them to release me, ‘Please, please, my wife, my children, they’re waiting from me across the ocean, they’re hungry.’ I say, but they just laugh.

One of them holds out a leaf and says, ‘Look at it eating the dirt, how cute! Do you think he will eat this? It even looks like him.’ I press myself against the mesh and they jump back, ‘Please, you must help me, my family is dying.’ I say.

But her companion just drags her away, ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘it’s just some dumb, ugly animal — seen one, you’ve seen them all — we’ll be late for the theatre.’; I lie back on the damp earth and think of my wife and children again as the light dims and the sound of rain falling over me drowns out their laughter.

In response to: Three Line Tales, Week Forty-Three
Image by Sandis Helvigs

Thanks as always to Sonya at only100words.xyz for organising and coordinating these three line tales each week.