Lost. Again. I shouldn’t have relied on the “fresh produce” signs. I need to find a place to turn around.

There’s a puff of dust on the rise in the road ahead, and hundreds of naked sheep come trotting over the hill. I have to stop and can’t even pull over. WTF? They stream along, content in their journey down the road. The end of the herd passes me by and I drive over the rise.

I see a place to turn around. I also see stacks of wool in a field and two men standing by an open gate. The older one is yelling at the younger, the older’s face purple and younger’s red.

How are they going to get all those sheep back into that field? I expect the young man will wonder the same thing soon enough.

word count: 140

I’m new to flash/micro fiction. I know I’m above the Friday Fictioneers count, but I’m below 200, which is good for me!

Inspiration image from Sandra Cook via Friday Fictioneers


I can’t help myself. I’ve got the Lonely Goatherd stuck in my head even though these are sheep.

“High on a hill was a lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo

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