"An Abominable Holiday"

I wolf down the last bit of meat just as my wife comes back to camp with armful of firewood.
"What was that?" she asks, dropping the wood in the clearing.
"Nfm," I mumble, suddenly quite interested in a pattern of roots at the base of the tree I'm leaning against.
"What?" she calls, now looking very carefully my way.
I swallow, a bit earlier than I normally would have, and it cramps my throat.
"Ng..nothing," I say, and cough.
"Nothing?" she asks, still looking at me, and I think she's figured it out.
I look up and smile, trying my best to look as charming as possible. "Nope," I say.
She looks back to the wood, and starts to arrange it tipi-style for the campfire.
"So you're hungry?" she asks. "It's been a while since breakfast."
"Mmm...yeah," I lie. "I could eat." Shuffling toward her, I reach out to help arrange the wood, but realize my hands are still streaked with blood and quickly draw back.
"Any people come by?" she asks.
"No," I say. "No people."
"You're not a very good liar, you know." she says.
"What?" I say, pushing the flabbergast a little too hard.
She sits up, and her eyes drift to the tree where I'd taken my meal.
"There's still a bloody parka over there, doofus," she says.
"Uh..." I say, not looking. Her eyes come back to mine.
"And your beard is covered in gore," she says.
I wipe at my face quickly.
"Your hands, too," she says, sighing.
"Sorry," I say, and try to look it.
"Just go and bury your food's clothes, Jerry," she says icily, jabbing a finger at the parka. "Right. Now."
I hustle over to the tree, and en route stumble over my kill's head, sending it flying into the woods.
"What was that?" my wife hisses.
"The head," I hiss back.
Her eyes widen in a kind of dangerous disappointment.
"I don't like the heads!" I say, and it comes out sounding a lot more like a whine than I intended.
She opens her mouth, but then we both smell it, and turn to look in the direction of the smell simultaneously. People, close by.
"Todd!" comes the call, and then another voice, closer. "Todd? You out here?"
My wife gives me a look, and I know for sure I'll be sleeping outside the cave and in a snow drift for a week when we get back home.
There is a shout and scream from the direction the head got kicked, and then someone is screaming "Todd's head! Good Lord! I found Todd's head!" and running right for us.
"Honestly, Gerald," my wife says, baring her hunting teeth. "I can't take you anywhere."

Comments

[Bohae]

Wow, that was...excellent : )

From sleeping on couches to the infamous snow drift...what next? I wonder...

[the wife]

Any story where you can write the line "Todd's head! I found Todd's head!" is a resounding success.

[Gretchen]

You know it's been too long since the last microstory when you first assume that the word "meat" in the opening sentence refers to beef or veal or mahi mahi. Silly me.

[Faith]

I just had a crazy image of Santa eating poor Todd.

[flyyhigh]

I just realised that the microstories aren't micro anymore after looking at the first few.

[Stubby LaRue]

Head Start
"The brochure had said that not only would life expectancy triple for a severed head but that the procedure was painless. Caleb grimaced in his tank. It had not been painless."

Remember those microstories?

[Q]

I knew you would fold eventually and write something. What would the WGA say?

[Enna Isilee]

Oi! I grew out of the habit of checking for new crumbs!

I got a... warm welcome at least.

[Q]

Welcome back, Enna Isilee.