100-Word Fiction: ‘A Black and White Night’

I walked home all the fucking way the main roads as well. It’s quiet at three in the mornin and you can get a pace on; thinkin of the alarm clock oh jesus and work sat at the desk. The road like a river, the current pullin you on and the moon overhead lightin up the fields of wheat. Then this scufflin sound behind me and the patterin of feet. I started joggin, faster, almost runnin. And then I looked behind and there it was comin at me: a fuckin giant mutant badger I tell ye, a giant fuckin badger.

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Author: MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. 'Scarecrow', a debut collection of poetry is available now from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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