The Tiny Sheriff
by Shane Jones
We were famous sculptors. We made sculptures of sparrows but then we got bored and decided to sculpt statues of each other. This was a bad move. Our statues were beautiful but the village sheriff created the word ostentatious. Then we had to live in the woods with the sparrows who disliked us for sculpting their beaks too wide. Late one night I said go back to the statue I made of you. I said punch a hole through your stomach and find the story I wrote about us being famous sculptors. When you punched the hole through your stomach a tiny sheriff floated from the hole. The tiny sheriff was lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head and his legs were bicycling through the air. He wore black boots with spurs and smoked a cigarette. He moved like a storm cloud. The tiny sheriff carved a wooden door into your stomach with his spurs. He tested the door and a deer jumped in with long antlers that grazed the back of your throat. Sparrows flew in and made nests on the antlers in your chest. He shut the door. If you ever, said the tiny sheriff shaking his tiny fist as he floated away.
About the author:
Shane Jones lives in Albany, New York. He is the author of I Will Unfold You With My Hairy Hands (Greying Ghost 2008) and the novel Light Boxes (Publishing Genius 2009). Shane says things at shaneejones.blogspot.com.