Fleapeople are bigger than fleas, and smaller than men. They’re about the size of babies at the exact moment babies are born, and they look more like scaled-down adults. They weigh about the size of an apple. Their noses are very long. Their ears look like crescent moons. And like fleas, fleapeople are tough to see. They’re invisible, really, unless you know what you’re looking for. They’re also called fleapeople because they ride dogs.
One particular fleaperson was named Nikk. Nikk rode on the back of a Jack Russel Terrier, and he was riding to see his fleancée. His steed, named Jackjack, had giant triangular ears, and Nikk held onto them, pinching them down to folds while he rode.
Nikk’s fleancée was named Gwadaloopay, and he loved her, and she loved him. They made love on the back of Gwadaloopay’s steed, which was a German Shepherd named Bud, while Bud was sleeping. Bud barely noticed because he was very big.
“We’re going to get married,” said Nikk. He was laying back on Budd’s warm fur, with the purple hair of Gwadaloopay blanketing his hairless chest.
Gwadaloopay liked to hear that. “It will be grand,” she said.
“Yes, it will be grand.”
“When we get married.”
“Because we love each other.”
“Yes, I love you and you love me.”
“When you get back from the war, we’re going to get married. You’ll come back to me, and we’ll get married, and it will be grand.”
Nikk was asleep.
“You’ll come back?”
But Nikk was asleep.
Today’s three prompt categories were, “Written in the style of Ernest Hemingway,” “An invisible person,” and “A riding dog.”
Fleapeople. In the style of Hemingway. My prompts really are getting more ridiculous. But at the same time, I kind of want to write more fleapeople stories.
Fleancée is objectively the best word to come out of my whole challenge up to this point.