It was Saturday night, and I was once again at home alone, curled on the couch watching Blue Bloods reruns. Tom Selleck will always be one heck of a sexy guy. I looked out my window facing Lake Michigan, and there was a Zebra starring at me. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Zebra still there. I checked the bottle I drank from, Diet Sunkist. The liquid inside was the customary orange. I sniffed. Smelled like Diet Sunkist always smelled. Not that I had ever really thought about smelling the soda, but if it smelled different, I would have noticed. Okay, so chances were pretty good I wasn’t drunk. I’d been drinking the same beverage all night.
A bumping noise came from the window. Zebra nose connected in a rhythmic pattern with my window. It wanted me to come outside, at least, I thought so.
Are Zebra’s dangerous? This had to be somebody’s pet. Right? Michigan didn’t grow wild Zebras. Here they lived on game preserves and in zoos. Perhaps he was in trouble and sensed I would help. I pulled on my boots, opened the door, and stepped into sixty-degree spring air. A half moon lite the deck of my cottage compliments of Mrs. E.G. Warnhome while I wrote the story of her life.
No Zebra on the deck. As quietly as I could in rubber boots on week-old wood-grain plastic decking, I snuck around to the east window. No Zebra face, but about twenty feet down the private bluff I spied what I assumed was a Zebra’s behind and next to it a lion’s tail.
Was this the end? Was I being summoned to the next ark? Should I grab my purse? What does one take on the final voyage?
Story Pieces are pieces of story ideas floating in my head but are not yet developed. They will appear every few days. If you’d like to read more, please comment.