Flash Fiction: Street Feast
Written by Demetra Nikolakakis
They were taunting me.
I had grown used to the dry hay, the carrots and slices of apple. I did not complain despite long days riding through the city, carrying cranky tourists and avoiding shrieking cars.
My driver thought he fed me well – we took frequent breaks to hay bales in between trips – but the winter hay was bland and the delectable scents of passengers’ hot dogs and shawarma piqued my interest. After months of freezing in the snow, smelling the forbidden foods, bestial curiosity turned to insatiable desire. I had to try meat.
For days, I eyed every pigeon and street rat, waiting for the perfect moment. I was hungry, but I bided my time. Eventually, when my driver was distracted, arguing with a woman about the fare, I dashed into a group of pigeons, bending my neck closer to my prey, watching in cruel delight as some tried to fly away. I would chase them if need be. I would finally taste flesh.
