Flower's First Night (short story)

 

Flower’s First Night

(Random 2-word prompt- pudding, security)

                Flower, it was his first night on the job, ran.

                It wasn’t the best start at protecting the Queen’s tarts, and he’d been warned about the ants, but he hadn’t expected them to be THAT big.  He prayed that this one was the exception; one was already too much to handle.  Not that the confectionary gods ever listened.

                He’d dropped his sword as soon as he’d seen it.  Not on purpose.  He just hadn’t expected the thing to crash through the window like that.  It’d given him a fright.  The colourful stained glass shattered, the dark wooden muntins and stiles folded like paper, and the stones of the walls shook and cracked.  A large brown oval head, garnished with gigantic snapping blood-red mandibles, burst into the corridor, followed by a huge thorax and it’s supporting elongated legs.

                Flower had dropped his sword and ran, not realising until he was around the corner that perhaps the ant’s size was the reason he’d been given a weapon in the first place.  He’d abandoned it, and the vault of sugary tarts he’d sworn to protect, in favour of his own life.  And now the large insect chased him.

Oh dear.

He’d expected monsters to scream, but not this one.  It clicked and clacked, chattering loudly like a pair of rulers being slapped against skin.  It grated his senses.  Flower got the impression that it was calling for others, other ants to join the hunt.  Oh no.  Gods forbid that any more of those insects invaded the castle vaults, but there was food here, the royal tarts, and he knew ants had the sweetest tooth.

His boots thumped against the vibrant carpet that ran the lengths of the halls, and he darted by paintings of tart ancestors, saccharine portraitures of treats long forgotten.  The bug was wreaking havoc behind him, destroying priceless artifacts, but he wasn’t here to protect those trinkets, and he had to keep running.  His breaths laboured, he was exhausted, and the ant was swift.  He felt a stitch in his side.  He kept running.  He sucked in oxygen through the pain, realising that the ant stank, something he’d never noticed before.  These passages usually smelled sweet and freshly baked, but the pungent aroma of the giant ant had consumed the air.  Acidic, like vinegar.  Intense.  It made his eyes water.

Flower ran as fast as he could, the ant close behind him, clicking and clacking, snapping and clapping its mandibles.  He tried not to scream, waste his breath, for there was salvation ahead.  If he could reach the doors, if he was fast enough, he’d be able to call for help, sound the alarm for the other guards to tackle the formidable formicidae.

He collided with the door, it winded him, and the hard carpet caught him as he fell.  Ow!  The door was locked!  Oh dear.

Flower climbed to his feet.  He wondered for a moment why the ant hadn’t caught him yet, taken his small and frail body between its mandibles and severed his top from his bottom.  He faced it.

The large ant towered over him, considering the man with its compound eyes and twitching elbowed antennae.  It was silent, no chitter-chatter.  The creatures head tilted to the side; there was an intelligence there, ancient and deadly.

Flower suddenly realised that perhaps this creature was not craving the delicious round tarts of the Queen, with their succulent and sweet fillings encased in rich and flaky pastry, but it desired the savoury meats and crunchy bones of a short little guard on his first night on the job.

Oh no.

He considered banging on the locked door, crying out, but he knew that the giant ant would have him as soon as he turned his back.

There was only one thing for it.

He’d fight.

But he needed one thing first.

Flower screamed and ran.  He ducked under the enormous thorax, weaved between long and dangerous legs, dodged around the bulbous abdomen and ran and ran and ran as fast as his legs could take him.

He looked back.  The ant thrashed against walls that weren’t wide enough for its enormous bulk to turn around, breaking the canvases and ornaments adorning them.  Its creepy voice chittered, broke its silence, and was more urgent, angrier.  The ant was furious at him.

Uh oh.

The massive monster moved forward, away from him, and it’s padded feet gripped the door and walls in front of it.  It climbed up and over, defying gravity as it reached the ceiling and then traced a spiral path down the wall and back to the level floor.  It faced him.  Mandibles snapped the air in triumph and the chase begun again.

Flower had the lead this time and he used his advantage to reach the broken window where the giant ant had first forced its way into the castle.  He frantically searched for his sword, and found it amongst broken glass.  Yes!  He gripped it tight and faced down the corridor waiting for the inevitable confrontation with the creature.

He gulped down his fear on a dry throat.

The gigantic ant neared, jaws ready to munch Flower’s body to dust.

Oh no, he couldn’t do this.

There was no way he could battle this huge creature and win, not on his first night of the job.

Flower scurried to his left, fumbling for the vault’s keys on his belt.  The pungent perfume of the ant was getting more intense, it’s skittering and chittering louder.  It was almost upon him.

He slammed the key into the vault’s lock, yelling and cursing the gods at his fate, and the door to the delicious tarts clicked open just as the insidious insect reached him.

Flower screamed.

                The creature reared up, its mandibles snapped a hungry message, telling the man he was dinner, and Flower darted into the vault.

                He slammed the door, but the ant was quicker.  It pressed its weight against the vault, fighting against his efforts to get to safety.  He pushed back, the entrance ajar, opening and closing as the giant head and jaw tried to squeeze its way in.  Flower’s muscles strained.  He braced his legs, thighs burning with effort and his arms laboured against the metal door of the vault.

                He cried out, a crescendoed battle cry to steel his resolve as he forced all his strength, all his will to live, against the door.  The insect countered with its hunger, but his need was greater.

                The vault clicked shut and Flower collapsed to his knees.

                He was safe.

                He sighed relief.

                He stood.  The room was silent, there was no way the chattering creature was getting in here.  Not through those massive steel doors.  But what next?  He was trapped in here with the beast guarding the only exit.

                Flower suddenly noticed he was no longer able to smell the vinegary stink of the monster; it’d been replaced by the sweet aroma of what he’d been sworn to protect.  The Queen’s tarts.  Their scrumptious and fragrant scent filled his nostrils, and he was suddenly a little peckish.  He’d used a lot of his stamina against that humungous monster, and it’d been several hours since he’d eaten any dinner.

                Flower eyed the stacks and stacks of tarts, hundreds of sweet treats, that filled the large vault.  Just one little cake wouldn’t do any harm.  One dessert.

                Oh yes.

                His mouth salivated.

                Flower reached for the nearest tart.  It appeared to be strawberry.  His favourite.  He took a bite, ignoring the iced lettering on its surface, but he’d soon know why the Queen had locked up her delicious puddings.

                The letters on the tart read: “Eat me.”

                Oh dear.

                She'd have his head for this.

The End.

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