The Epidemic (Original Flash Fiction)

 

I've written (and rewritten) versions of this story over the years. I think this is the best so far ...

The Epidemic by James C. Clar © 2026

“Hey, listen,” I said, aiming for calm and landing somewhere just short of pleading. “We can work this out here if we’re all reasonable.”

I hadn’t seen or heard them arrive. One moment I was bent over my work; the next, they were simply there, encircling the battered oak table I used as a desk, hemming me in with a patience that felt rehearsed.

The cow with the broken leg went first.

“Reasonable,” she repeated, tasting the word as if it might be spoiled. She limped forward with measured steps. The bell at her neck gave a dull, steady clang, less a jingle than a fateful warning. “You don’t even know what that means anymore.”

Her gaze swept the room, then settled back on me. “Look around. You probably don’t even realize the damage you’ve caused.”

I did look – really looked – and wished I hadn’t.

There was the pig with the torn ear. The duck whose bill sat at an angle no bill ever should. The rooster, his comb long gone, staring at me with a flat, unwavering intensity. More pressed in behind them, filling the study, crowding the shelves, lining the edges of my desk. They kept coming, a slow, silent procession, until the room felt as though it wouldn’t hold any more.

It was a painful inventory of small disasters. The cow was right. I had, albeit inadvertently, triggered a veritable epidemic.

I felt a cold prickle at the back of my neck. Had they remembered the dog? The sound alone, good heavens! I still awoke some nights with it echoing in my head, that awful, brittle crunch. There was nothing that could be done for him, so I had disposed of him quickly, guiltily, as though speed might pass for respect. I suspect it hadn’t.

A cat stepped forward tail neatly reattached, but not quite right. The scar was visible if you knew where to look.

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate tha’ effort,” he said, voice smooth and measured, touched with a genteel Southern cadence. “You do try, from time t’ time.”

He paused, letting me savor the almost-kindness before continuing.

“But effort is not the same as competence. An’ your habits, as well as your inattention, have produced a steady stream of catastrophes. Frankly, it’s unsustainable.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Agreement. Approval. Resolve.

“So,” the cat went on, “we’ve come t’ make an arrangement. For your benefit as much as ours. Though I should be clear, there’s no real negotiation to be had.”

Heads dipped. Eyes held mine. Even the smallest among them seemed utterly certain. I was being pressured, no doubt about it, and hard.

I glanced around, searching for some angle, some escape from the tightening circle.

A gorilla clung to the neck of my desk lamp, its shadow looming large against the wall. A crocodile sprawled across my keyboard; its jaws parted in a fixed, unpleasant grin. A bear leaned insouciantly against the pencil sharpener with the air of someone who already knew he had won.

The room felt smaller by the second.

The cow stepped closer. Her voice softened, but it carried a weight that pressed down all the same.

“From now on, you’re going to be more careful when you open and close the refrigerator door,” she said. “No more careless swings. No more … collisions.”

She tilted her head slightly, the bell giving a low, final note.

“And if, on the rare occasion that something does go awry, you’ll stop using that useless school paste. We’re done with school paste. You’ll procure some proper epoxy, today. Not tomorrow. Today!”

The End