Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Vasuki pranced over the snowy field moving quickly as he tried to ignore the hated feeling of snow on his wings, a substance in abundance here.
No, he couldn’t dwell on that. He had to find, retrieve, and deliver the bag quickly. Then he could get back to the warm barn.
The task should have been easy on the white plane. A brilliant bag. White snow. Easy.
They’d have been wrong.
At least the snow here didn’t match the fields beyond. Here the snow scattered from a central point and not the wind’s whimsy.
Bounding forward, he pounced on the center, sweeping aside the top layer. Nothing.
The bag had hit hard then, burying itself. Huffing, Vasuki lowered himself, bending his legs until he lay practically against the snow. The cold stung through his thick underside.
“Warm barn,” he reminded himself. Vasuki inhaled deeply. Breathing out, not air but fire flowed.
The snow shrunk, lapping in waves from the force of his flames. Layers storms had taken weeks creating Vasuki destroyed. In the strikingly clear water, he caught a glimpse of velvety red.
Vasuki let his flames die. Extending a claw, he grasped the bag yanking free even as the water hardened to ice.
Shaking fridged droplets off, he launched into the air. Delivery time. He had a sleigh to catch.
Darting away, he glanced back. Elves dotted the field. The reindeer had worked with them to create a rink. Dumping Santa’s bag had been a conspiracy.
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