A Matter of Taste

Photo by: Joy Pixley

David Wind Hawk hopped nimbly from rock to rock. He enjoyed being a tour guide, even though this marked the first time he got stuck with a politician and his lawyer.

David gestured. “And here is Vulture Rock. Navaho legend says anyone who sits in its mouth will be eaten.” David sat in the mouth, grinning. “It’s only a legend. I’ve guided hundreds of Wasichu* and all sat here safely.”

Howard Punter crawled up, wheezing, red-faced and sweating. He took David’s place in the Vulture’s mouth. “Hey take a picture, Stan!” he called. “I want the voters to know I’m an outdoorsman.”

Stan Greer wasn’t much better off than the Senator. Breathing hard, he reached for his cellphone. He hated doing things like this, but it was necessary to keep his sticky-fingered employer in office.

He pulled his phone out just as Vulture Rock’s jaws snapped shut, engulfing the politician.

“Aahh! You said it was safe!”

David was shocked. “That’s never happened before. I didn’t know it really was magical.”

“Any chance the stone bird would just spit him out?”

David shook his head. “This is Vulture Rock. Unlike voters, vultures like rotten things.”
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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2018/07/28/sunday-photo-fiction-july-29-2018/

* Wasichu (pronounced: “Wah-See-Shoo”) is Native-American slang for White People.