Squaretail

The stage was filled with forkedtails and roundtails. The loudest of them grabbed a microphone and said, “We need to rid our country of squaretails. They are a danger to us all. I suggest a thorough cleansing that would include deporting, jailing, and execution of the most dangerous.”

The audience applauded and cheered.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “squaretail.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

2 thoughts on “Squaretail”

  1. Context is everything. Waxing eloquent about squaretails futilely attempting an existence along with other tailed creatures seems, to me, to be a great definition of unreality. Margaret Atchison could do it. Her genre is dysfunctional future fiction so it’d be appropriate. For all the rest of us to be concerned about the importance of tails reminds me of the story of the six blind men attempting to define an elephant from his singular context: tusks, trunk, torso, tail with its little fringe, legs, ears. All are parts. None is the whole. Therefore the definition describes only something unreal. Squaretails, forkedtails, roundtails, and any other kind of ____tail simply don’t exist without the rest of their parts enlivened by spirit. Engage in fantasy is great if you realize that it IS fantasy. Otherwise it sinks to the level of ridiculous.

  2. ” I think it is time we got rid of them . Finally . This is our chance . ” My friend was breathless with excitement and rage and a certain indefinable animalistic urge . Maybe it was just violence . But it was infectious , loud and overpowering . Like forest fire . All alarm bells ringing . I felt like running . Away from the fire . Save myself first . Shouldn’t be sucked into this fire . Shouldn’t .

    “What are you talking about ?” I asked . Trying to appear calm . The person on the stage was bellowing some filthy phrases . There was vile wickedness and breathlessness in the air . Like powdered explosive accidentally thrown into the air . Acrid . Full of foreboding .

    “Can’t you see ? ” My friend was beside himself . He seemed to be a different person now . Not the gentle soul I had always known . Almost as if he had sprouted horns. It was the worst decision . To have agreed to come to this gathering .

    Now I was stuck . Suddenly the calming aroma of freshly fried samosas filled the air . Phew !! My other friend walked towards us . His arms full of the savoury goodies , oil slick lips , hissing slightly as he bit into the spicy goodness .
    “Leave you guys for a minute and you start an argument . ” He said , comfortably plonking himself on the grass .
    “You know this is not the perfect place to…” I began and was immediately silenced by a raised greasy finger .
    “Someone might have pissed into this grass few moments ago…” Began my outraged friend , but one bite out of the hissing , steaming samosa and his demeanour changed . “Good stuff dude , where did you …?’ He too was silenced by a raised finger . The crowd was clapping enthusiastically . We weren’t . Our hands were occupied with food . Brains were awash with carb-laden -hyperglycemic fogginess.

    “By the way , have you heard the tale of squaretails ?” My amicable friend began . Most of the people had started shuffling out of the grounds . It was getting dark and common sense told people to reach back home before the fog hit. Some raised slogans . One was going around starting a signature campaign of some sorts . Three of us polished off the delicious samosas .

    “Now we need to drink something . This is the trouble with samosas . ” I spoke in between hisses . My mouth was on fire . My friend , the samosa buyer, got up and crumpled the oily paper bag , now empty . Tossing it into a dustbin , he said “Come on now , I know a place where we can get hot tea .”
    “Where ?” Lazily intoned my erstwhile rebellious friend , reclining on the grass , hiccuping .

    “Your home ? ”
    “What ?”

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