There was only silence, save for the crackling of the bonfire. As my vision gradually shifted from concussed blur to night-blind blur, I made out the unmoving figure of Junior, similarly trussed on a nearby pole. While he seemed to be okay, three feet of ground were all that was preventing a good old fashioned pig-roast. One of the shadowy figures stepped into the firelight. He was lucky my hands were tied - I was getting sick of this shit. The 'Chief' was wearing nothing but a combination of Motorcross armor, feathers and some creatively-stitched grocery bags. His headdress alone represented at least three feather dusters, a stuffed parrot and possibly the innards of some unfortunate pillow. Goose down I'd wager. He lit into some big speech about the evil of interlopers and the unclean. I used the time to clear my head and look around. There were about 20 villagers, mostly women and kids, all bag-clad and scared looking. &quot;Excuse me.&quot; I said, cutting the chief off. He turned to me aghast. &quot;Got a cigarette?&quot; 2008-06-16T18:05:56Z http://ficlets.com/feed/story/34531 <p>Poor junior. Doesn&#8217;t look good for him right now. 3 feet from a bonfire might start making his mutated hambone smell quite yummy to the starved villagers.</p> http://ficlets.com/stories/34531?basename=71146 2008-06-16T18:05:56Z John Perkins http://ficlets.com/authors/johnperkins21