“So a cat won’t get it,” he said.

“Or a rat,” I added.

“Or a rat,” he repeated and began snapping and clicking the Zippo again.  The lighter has a three-dimensional black metal skull welded onto one side, an ominous detail that I have failed to mention.  Smooth Boy noted my attention and tossed it to me, still warm from the friction of his snapping and clicking.

“Nice,” I said and flicked it open like he did.  It weighed as much as the bird had.  Would the bird’s feet hold tight to the branch after death?  I pressed the lighter into the flesh of my palm and the skull left a red imprint. I held it out to return it, but he put up both hands.

"Keep it," he said.

If it’s too good to be true, it’s too good to be true, the only advice I’d ever taken from my father, given to me when I wanted to use my birthday money to buy the sea monkeys pictured in the back of a comic book.  I imagined half-fish, half-simian creatures swimming in an aquarium ready to do my bidding, like the flying monkeys in the Land of Oz.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)