The scene: Africa. 1957, somewhat upriver from Khartoom, mid-summer, just after afternoon tea.
“We’re stuck!” he declared from the bow, his bow tie askew.
“Oooh Percy! Just like that film African Queen with Bogart and Katherine Hepburn!” she squealed back, all petticoats and ribbons.
She heard a splash, and peered around the wheel house. Percy’s clothes lay in a heap.
A bloodcurdling scream jumped her back two clear metres.
“Percy?” she yelled; “you alright?”
Percy was not. It was not often one saw a man with an alligator clamped to his penis, she surmised.
“Percy!” she screeched, throwing off skirts and clambering down the ladder, derrière protruding, as another alligator prepared to lunge upwards.
For Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction admirably conducted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo courtesy of Penny Gadd.