For the A to Z challenge, I present Murder Most Fowl, an unedited serial story from the unpublished Cera Chronicles. Please excuse the grammar mistakes. This hasn’t been critiqued yet.
At times, alternate worlds could be seriously foul. Or was that fowl? The unnerving screech of my feathered stalker raised the hair on my arms. I could’ve sworn he was waiting for me to keel over and die.
I cupped a hand and shielded my eyes from the glaring sun. Not far until I reached the next town. Heat waves distorted the dilapidated wooden buildings. They rose and fell like broken teeth between sneering sagebrush lips.
Please don’t eat me.
The heel of my right pump caught in the former home of a dislodged rock. It snapped, and I pitched forward, flailing my arms. “Frigging pain in the…” Not my custom-made heels! They’d been handcrafted on the last world by one of those midget-elves in pink tutus. Never had I owned a better pair.
I hopped on one foot–the one with the broken shoe. Right. Heels and desert didn’t mix. I would’ve changed into my spare pair of boots, but those were in my bag. And my bag was with my guardian—who wasn’t here.
Stupid world. It’d separated me from my companions upon arrival. It also locked down the power I typically used to locate them.
If I was lucky, my traveling companions would be in this next town, waiting for me.
A scraggly creature—some form of bald scavenging bird—scampered out from it’s earthly dwelling and… “Hey!” It frigging stole my broken heel!
It disappeared into a hole with the priceless piece of fashion accessory.
“Yeah, well, I hope you choke on it.”
Choking sounds came from the hole. I frowned.
“And then I hope you bring back my heel.” I waited. No such luck. I almost felt bad. Klepto-bird hadn’t been the one stalking me. The remaining feathered bird glowered at me. I pointed a threatening finger at its beak. “You’re next, buddy.”
I snapped the heel off my still-intact shoe and started walking the rest of the compacted dirt road in my stylish new flats. Better than scorching my soles.
Cacti greeted my entrance into the new town. Men stood on wooden boardwalks, staring at the two people—a man with a badge and a girl—facing off in the middle of the main road. I studied the feminine backside of the young girl, clad in a ruched skirt and bolero. Her fingers twitched at her belt.
Hands whipped to holsters. Guns flared and cracked.
“Ow!” Had someone just…? I glanced down. Red bloomed in the center of my abdomen. “Dammit. Not my blouse too…”
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