White Feather


“What, not a Who, it’s a What,” Wade Blanton said, as he wiped sweat from inside the band of his wide-brimmed Stetson hat.

Shug Coffey whistled as he stuck his finger within the diamonds of the hastily constructed chicken-wire enclosure behind Blanton’s cantina just outside Nogales, then whispered, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it, even in pitchers.”

“Careful there, pardner, I’m not sure or not if it bites, and when I stole it from Padre Robledo, I was kinda in too much of a hurry to ask.”

Shug jerked back his finger, letting his breath out in a low whistle again as he stared at the winged creature chained to the hard-packed Sonoran Dessert sand inside the fence.

He walked to his horse, fished in the saddle bags, returning with a pair of leather sacks and said, “All right, I’ll take it, though I still say two thousand pesos seems an awful steep price…even for an angel.”

Combined a couple of prompts for this story. Canadian writer Sarah Salecky as her readers to write a story in which the dialogue had no question marks, yet started with the line, “What.” Lillie McFerrin asked that her readers write a five sentence piece of fiction based on the word FENCED. I think I obliged, using two meanings for that word.  Stolen ol’ Gabriel was being sold, fenced, from behind an enclosure in which he was held captive, fenced.

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