Flora & Ulysses

They were in the woods.

He could tell by the smell of pine resin in the trees and the sound of pine needles crunching underfoot. Also, there was the powerful, extremely pervasive scent of raccoon. Raccoons owned the night, and raccoons were truly terrifying creatures — more brutal even than cats.

“This will do,” said Flora’s mother. She stopped. She put the sack down on the ground. And then she opened it and shone a bright light on Ulysses. He clutched his poem to his chest. He stared into the light as bravely as he could.

“Give me that,” said Flora’s mother.

She pulled the paper out of his paws. She threw it to the ground. Would she never tire of flinging his words away?

“This is the end of the road, Mr. Squirrel,” she said. She put the flashlight on the ground. She picked up a shovel, the shovel.

He heard Flora’s voice saying, Remember who you are.

The squirrel turned and sniffed his tail.

He thought about when Flora had shown him the picture of Alfred T. Slipper in his janitor uniform, and how Alfred had been transformed into the bright light that was Incandesto. The words from the poem that Tootie had recited rose up inside of him.