Flash Fiction: The Muse and the Frostbitten Beast

Tannille followed The Muse along a cleared footpath. Boulders acted as a boundary between the snowy wilderness and civilisation. 

“Don’t go over the fence,” warned The Muse as she stopped to face the great unknown. 

“Why?”

“It’s chaos out there. Our side is safe.”

“Safe? Morons with cars. Gangs with guns. Babies with nappy bombs… I’ll take my chances out there.”

“No way. Bears. Big Foot. The yeti. Frost giants. Take your pick,” said The Muse with a smirk.  

“I don’t know about frost giants, but I sure am getting frostbite.”

“You and Prince Harry.”

“Oh, mummy…”

~*~

Story Notes:

For those who missed it, lucky you — Prince Harry published his memoir earlier this year, dedicated to his willy. And I don’t mean his brother, William, the future king. It was very informative, to say the least. I learnt that “todger” is British for penis. And should you ever have a frostbitten todger to rub Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour Cream and think of your mother — the remedy works like magic. The last part is the most important for the potion to work. I imagine one might have to be gentle. The curse of the frostbitten todger!

Sorry, I just want to use the word “todger” as often as possible, because it’s probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for an Aussie. Todger, todger, todger… oi, oi, oi.

More delightful Conversations With The Muse can be read here.