On the Loose

By P.S. Wright

It was a blustery mid-March eve in the suburbs. All the single ladies huddled up with iPhones for updates on the local kidnappings—all save one.

Armistice O’Flannery was over the river and through the woods delivering Easter baskets to the church as a Nor’Easter approached—flipping trashcans and snapping trees all around the mulberry bush.

Armistice sallied forth, losing all her eggs. The kidnapper on-the-loose spied Armistice forging along the river path and clutching ill-bred ideas, grabbed her to-go. Armistice, decidedly, was not on the menu. She hollered go-to-hell as a great gust raged, heaving him head-over-heels down the embankment.