Tuesday Tales: The Cart Incident

*This post occurred before I changed the WIP title.*

Tuesdays are the day I have set aside to get my creative mind rolling by writing flash fiction. For the time being, these stories will be set in Teorre, the world of my current WIP, The Crystal Bearer. I've mostly used writing prompts unless an independent idea runs through my head, and this time one has. It's based on a quick scenario mentioned in my WIP detailing the mischievous antics of one of the supporting characters. So here I go!

The Cart Incident

“You’re putting too much in!”


Andyrsn and Donovan were crouched behind the carthorse, giggling like young school girls, even though they had both turned 19 not long ago. A blue and green quetzal hopped up to the space between the cart bed and the wall to peck at Andyrsn’s wild brown curls. He gently pushed it back to its fellow birds and then scraped the last line of powder from the wall. Donovan was right. The walls had to be packed with just enough powder to cause them to fall but not enough to injure the quetzals. They chirped among themselves as Donovan secured the wall facing and protecting the mule in front. The cart attendant at Eastward Temple would hopefully unhook it before he unknowingly triggered the blast.

“Brodie’s going to shoot us both when she figures out what happened,” Andyrsn said.

“Well, I’m family, so she can’t kill me,” Donovan said with a smirk.

“Nice.” They stood up and checked each wall before sending the carthorse on its way. Everything looked secure, so Andyrsn nodded. “All right. Let’s get to the motorboat.”

Donovan patted the mule, and he and Andyrsn hurried towards the beach as the mule pulled the booby-trapped cart up the road to Eastward Temple.


Brodie heard the loud crack through the air outside of her window, but when her cart attendant started screaming, she grabbed her rifle and raced down the stairs, out into the temple yard. She froze at the sight of at least 50 quetzals flying and hopping around a ruined cart bed as a temple guard helped the attendant up. He was holding his arm close to his chest.

“What the hell happened?” Brodie demanded.

“Just some kids pulling a prank, I think. No real harm done until Cam flipped out.”

“I don’t like quetzals,” the attendant said, grimacing. “They’re creepy! Ow!”

“I think he broke his arm. I’m taking him to the nurses.”

Brodie had stopped listening already, the blood boiling inside her. She knew exactly who did this. Her brother and his jerk friend thought they were funnier than they were. As the other guards and attendants chased the quetzals around, she stormed back inside to her office to write Donovan a letter.

Dearest Brother,

I hate you. Tell Andyrsn he’s dead.

Love, Brodie.

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