SPONE MADAGASCAR
Spone Madagascar peeled the duct tape from his neck with care. He crumpled it into a lump of dull gray and dropped it out the window. Now able to turn his attention wholly to the surrounding cobras, he moved his hands in gentle sway, a mesmerizing rhythm. The cobras followed with dead lead eyes and wobbled in graceful harmony. Spone flashed to the window sill and leaped for freedom. Landing with a tuck and roll beyond the fence, he was up and running wild for the river. Over the hill and through the woods he dashed, ears perked to receive the slightest sound of pursuit. The river rolled into view. Swiftly he plunged in and down, transforming to great fish, glints of silver sparking from his writhing sides.
‘Dang, it got away,’ gasped the farmer’s daughter, arriving too late at the river’s bank.
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