In lieu of NaNoWriMo this year, I've opted to participate in some flash fiction on G+. The prompts are photographs posted daily by the organizer. This prompt was Evelyn Lamprey's pic of a
B/W of sweet rottweiler with a rope toy. Cute picture. Tough prompt. I ended up tossing
Rory's Story Cubes in the mix to help me along. Without further ado, today's submission:
It's just a rope.
But at times like these nothing else
will do. Not the squeaky rubber bee or the soft turtle toy Murray
snuggled with when his real litter mates had been adopted. It had to
be the rope. He locked his teeth into it and held it candy-apple
firm—he wasn't letting go. If you could hold on tightly enough, you
could swing Murray around by that rope. If you
could hold on tightly enough. There was no doubt about Murray. He
held a fortress-like grip, until he chose to let go, usually when you
were off balance. If you didn't know better, you'd think he got a
perverse pleasure in watching you teetering. Was that a glint in his
eye?
It's
just a rope: so much energy, and drama, and pleasure, tied into two
slobbery knots.
It's
just a rope.
