Keith J. Powell

Listen to Keith read his story:

Charlie arrived on crutches. An angry red scratch closed his right eye, his left leg was absent below the knee – both noticeable changes since the last time we’d brunched. We embraced and ordered mimosas. 

“So, what happened?” I asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “A minor kerfuffle with a Velociraptor.”

This was quite the news. I’d always understood Velociraptors as settled history – predators vanquished by a flaming comet from the heavens or rebranded as common poultry. True, a few relics remained here and there. You’d read about them in the Post, popping up in one row or another, perhaps causing mayhem on occasion, but always under cover of darkness. Charlie’s kerfuffle sounded like something new and seedy.  

“I was leaving work when I happened upon a pack prowling at the corner of High Street and Broad. They were involved in some kind of heated disagreement with a group of protestors. I didn’t want to get involved, truth be told, but before I knew it, one of the darn things had my leg in its maw, and well, c’est la vie.”

“No!”

“Yes. Then, to make matters worse, one of the protesters – this young blue-haired fellow with one of those inscrutable placards – ran up and struck the creature right on the snout. Can you imagine?” 

“I can’t. I must know, what happened next?”

“Fisticuffs and a rather gruesome evisceration. The entire encounter was like some macabre ballet. Fortunately, I was able to drag myself to safety.”

The waiter arrived with our drinks and two exquisite almond croissants. Charlie held his flute by the stem, took a sip, and returned it to the table. He sighed and shook his head. His mimosa rippled slightly, like a single raindrop striking a bright yellow pond.

“Violence is never the answer,” he said. 

“Never,” I agreed. “It’s uncouth.”

Somewhere in the far distance, beneath the clink of glasses and the Sunday chatter, came a deep dull thud like the heartbeat of the world. 

Then another. 

And another. 

Something was approaching. 

Our mimosas trembled in identical trepidation.

Keith J. Powell is a writer and editor based in Ohio. He is co-founder and managing editor of Your Impossible Voice and the author of the flash fiction chapbook Sweet Nothings Are a Diary If You Know How to Read Them (ELJ Editions). Visit keithjpowell.com for more.