Foreign Peacemakers

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


I had cut through Liddell Park on my way to my girlfriend's flat. It wasn't the first time I'd tried to save time this way. Above the rounded tops of the trees, the summer sky was filled with wispy clouds like a cotton ball being stretched thin across the sky. There weren't too many other people in the park for being early afternoon but the heat was already borderline unbearable.

As I rounded a turn, a googly-eyed old man stepped out from behind a tree. He was wearing a Seahawks jacket zipped all the way up, a woolen beanie, and, to my surprise, had a squirrel on a leash.

I stopped and gaped. The squirrel scratched at the collar at its throat.

The man's voice was soft and high pitched. “My . . . dog insists I offer you peace cake.”

"Oh for Christ's sake, he can see I'm a squirrel. And it's piece of cake not peace cake." The squirrel crossed its arms and flicked its tail. "Although peace cake isn't totally inaccurate in this case."

No amount of Disney movies had prepared me for a talking squirrel.


Prequels

No prequels yet. Why not write one?

« Write a prequel

Sequels

No sequels yet. Why not write one?

Write a sequel »

Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Pfft. Talking squirrel. Who's crazy now?

  • #2828 Posted 5 years ago
  • 0

Story prompt:

One person gifts a cake to a complete stranger in the park. A conversation ensues.

Cake! by ElshaHawk LoA


  • Published 5 years ago.
  • Story viewed 5 times and rated 0 times.

All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?