She scratched the notes into the bark of the giant tree and mumbled. ‘Cannot believe I have to do this again. Who released it? And why am I the only one whose magic contains it?’She hoped her guitar was tuned. Once she put down the last note, she would not have much time to play the song that sent the creature back to its realm. The populace was in hiding, but if she was unable to send it back, all would be lost.With a small stretch, she posted the final note. Turning, she shouted, ‘Where are you, you mangled apricot hellbeast?’The forest floor groaned under its weight and she played.
If you follow US politics of late, you may have noted the story about Mr. Trump’s visit to Scotland. The resultant names the residents offered in relation to him were legendary. One of my Facebook connections posted an image of the most interesting ones and I found myself inexorably drawn to ‘mangled apricot hellbeast’, indicating I needed to write a story about one. Here, in response to this week’s VisDare, are my 113 words in honor of this wonderful moniker. Click the photo above to visit the prompt and add your thoughts.