A story in exactly 100 words.
Jim scratched his groin, itching fierce since last week’s romp at Ophelia’s. With a squint particular to these plains, he muttered, “I’m telling ya, that there’s a wyvern.”
Turner pulled from her scope, rested the rifle on the blue ridge of the roof. “It’s a dragon. Release the flare.”
Jim spat. “Wyvern! See the tail? Got a stinger there. That two-wings couldn’t burn down a barn.”
That two-wings released a hot beam of fire that took out Ophelia’s Place. The critter swooped overhead, a stingerless tail whistling by.
“One of them fire-breathing wyverns,” Jim muttered stubbornly, reaching for the flare.