Short Story Fun - The Behemoth on the Hill
This week's blog post is a bit of short story silliness I wrote one afternoon when I came across this picture.
The war had gone on for too long. He stood and stretched, a useless attempt to relieve tired, aching muscles. Sleeping on the hard ground had long ago lost its appeal.
His enemies circled, watching his slow, ponderous movements. They weighed their chances of success. They wanted his perch, but he refused to give it up. Three brave ones inched closer, tails held high, ears perked forward.
“Woof!” His voice echoed in the stillness and his enemies startled, their fur bristling at odd angles.
The bravest of the bunch issued a hissing challenge, bunching its body and sidling closer in a sideways march.
“Woof!” He barked again. The tiny beast jumped back and batted a paw toward him. The creature was too far away to hit him, but the effort was a noble one.
Two of the other took their comrade’s bravery as a sign and began their own approach. On silent paws, they slinked forward, inching ever closer.
The behemoth watched them from the corner of his eye as he settled back into position. He laid his giant head between his paws and let his eyes slide almost closed.
Tiny pinpricks crawled over his flanks. He jerked his head up. One of the creatures had snuck up from behind. Its small claws barely pierced his fur. It tumbled down his side and onto its back as he moved his leg. A soft mewling sound escaped as it tried to wiggle back onto its paws.
The others, emboldened by its progress, rushed in, three at once. Their claws dug in but did no damage as they tried to conquer him. He heaved a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. The battle was over. They’d won.
Four tiny creatures curled up around and on him. Their warm little bodies shook with their purrs. He closed his eyes again and curled his tail around the
sleeping forms. Now that they’d climbed his hill, they were his to protect.
What kind of short story does this image inspire for you? Share in the comments.