Old Spirits, New Tales: Flash Fiction

Coyote lined up the glass bottles on an old cedar log. He found the bottles next to the smoking, black remains of a campfire that morning. As he lined up the bottles, Blue Jay came to watch. One by one, Coyote picked up the bottles until he found one still sitting upright in the grass.

Beer still sloshed around in it, but Coyote could not get the cap to budge. “Blue Jay, come open this bottle,” he said.

Blue Jay wasted no time. He plucked the cap off with his beak and took hold of the bottle with his feet. “You never learn,” he said and carried it high into the tree with a great laugh.

Coyote circled the bottom of the tree. “Bring that back! I found it. It’s mine!” he growled.

The two growled and laughed at each other for some time before they heard the crunch of footsteps on the hillside. The two made themselves invisible just as a man appeared in the clearing. Blue Jay waited until the man walked beneath the tree and then tipped the bottle over. The warm beer rained down on the man’s head, and he cried out in surprise.

Dripping wet, he looked up in the tree to search for the culprit. Seeing only an empty bottle, he stormed back the way he came and spat curses at the trees.

Coyote fell over with laughter once the man left, and Blue Jay joined in. “That was a good one, old friend,” said Coyote.

©2018, Sarah Day. For permissions contact: bookwitchedits@gmail.com.

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