Writing Pilates

This week for our writing assignment we shall…dum dum dum dum. Have Your Character Menace Innocent Wildlife. To view my lovely sister’s version please click here.

Have Your Character Menace Innocent Wildlife

Bosomella flitted ahead of Miss Borka toward a twisted oak just outside the castle’s heavy grey walls.

“Now hold still while I thread the metal string.”

Miss Borka was remarkably patient as the little beige fairy flew wire after wire from some mysterious location in the oak’s branches, through small hooks in the bosom blossomer, and finally through similar hooks that were attached to her thighs, knees, calves, ankles, and toes by small padded bands of metal.

Bosomella zoomed into the oaks thick leaves, seized a number of padded handles hanging from a mismatch of pulleys and signaled down to three nervous squires with musical instruments. The squires managed a jagged sounding waltz and Bosomella nudged one of the handles ever so gently to the left. Miss Borka moved. Then with a chirp of delight, Bosomella closed her eyes and imagined the dance as it would be at the ball. Graceful, smooth, feminine. Miss Borka would wow their troubled prince and all would gaze in admiration upon the voluptuous results of Bosomella’s own carefully crafted Bosom Blossomer.

But then Bosomella shifted slightly to the left, bumped the entryway to a small, unmarked nest, and heard the rise of angry chittering within the tree trunk.

Suddenly her vision was blocked by a storm of grey fur, snapping teeth, and firmly thrown acorns. Ducking to save her poor life, Bosomella yanked on one of the handles sending Miss Borka into that fateful spin that the squires of their family for generations to come would call “The Spin of Utter Destruction”.  Writhing and screeching and spitting out curses, Miss Borka spun and spun and spun until she was cocooned beyond recognition. Except for the muffled threats of disembowelment, no one could have distinguished her from a deer caught up in an Arachnimundo’s larder.

With trembling hands Bosomella took a small blacksmith’s tool to the mess, snipping one strand at a time and wishing that Miss Borka were someone calmer, less violent, happy go lucky, sane. Someone like a skunk farmer or well fed Gnashly beast.